


Holiday Shenanigans

by sullymygoodname



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Coming Out, Cookies, Gen, Happiest Season AU, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28312458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullymygoodname/pseuds/sullymygoodname
Summary: Patrick hasn't been to see his parents in almost a year. Not since he called off his engagement, packed up his things, and moved five hours away. But now he's returning for Christmas, and his parents have invited David to spend the holiday with them, too! There's just one problem...Hello! It's the Happiest Season AU that at least 5 people wanted!
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 105





	1. Tis the Season!

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday Shenanigans was the working title, but we're sticking with it now! This fic is sort of an amalgamation of the movie, which was mostly only used as a jumping off point, and the episodes _Merry Christmas, Johnny Rose!_ and _Meet the Parents_ from which I have repurposed some dialogue and details. I've also played a little with the canon timeline, but Dan Levy said time is meaningless and who am I to argue with him? So, this story supplants MCJR in the SC universe, and also Patrick gets his apartment earlier than in canon.
> 
> This fic will be 3 chapters. I am not done writing them yet, but I am actively working on them and hope to finish them within the next couple of weeks. I'm posting the first chapter now so I can say I got it out in time for Christmas, and to keep me working diligently to finish.
> 
> Extra special thanks to [rhetoricalquestions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricalQuestions/pseuds/RhetoricalQuestions) and [nontoxic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/pseuds/nontoxic) for beta reading this in pieces, quick and dirty style, as I scrambled to finish in time for Christmas. And a shoutout to my Rosebuddies who are always there to answer questions and workshop ideas. This year would have been crap without all of you!

* * *

"Unbelievable!"

Patrick cranes his neck to see David sitting on his sofa, phone in hand. David's eyebrows are high on his forehead and he has that _'Roland was just in the store'_ look on his face. Patrick rinses the last plate and sets it in the drying rack before wiping his hands and hanging up the towel.

"What happened?" he asks, stepping up behind the sofa to lean over David's shoulder. "Did Alexis accidentally tag Carrot Top in all of her Instagram selfies again?"

"What? No. Please don't remind me of that." David shudders. "No. _Apparently_ the Jazzagals won that concert invitation... thing, whatever. I don't know the details. They're going to sing on Christmas Eve at some big event in Toronto."

"Wow. Congratulations to them. And that's not so unbelievable; they're pretty good, and they worked really hard making that video." Patrick had helped with lighting. It was very impressive, no matter what Ronnie might have insinuated.

"Yes, it was very good. Your lights truly elevated the production value," David says, smiling up at him. Patrick beams back and leans down for a kiss, but David isn't finished. "No, the unbelievable part is they all get to stay for two whole days and nights at the Holiday Inn Toronto for free and _both_ of my parents are going, completely abandoning me for Christmas. I mean, obviously, I would choose a hotel stay in the city over me, but they didn't even _pretend_ to think about it first. And I'm not even invited. This is just like that time they got trapped doing Mel Gibson's week-long nativity re-enactment and I was in London all by myself."

Patrick blinks at him, taking that all in. He moves around the sofa to sit next to David. "So, it's just going to be you and Alexis for Christmas?"

"Mm, Alexis is spending Christmas with Ted and his mom, and she's also meeting his friends, I think? I wasn't listening when she stopped talking about the cookies that I'm also not invited to partake in." David locks his phone and sets it on the coffee table. "Besides, Christmas isn't even fun. Not like it used to be way, way, way back when we would throw these lavish parties. I'm sure you've read about them."

"I have not."

"I see." David nods, tipping his head back. "Well, they were big, and fun, and now that we live here, we've just been sort of skipping the holidays anyway, so." He shifts on the sofa, snuggling closer, and Patrick automatically lifts his arm to wrap it around David's shoulders.

He's going to miss this for five whole days. Five days without holding David, or seeing David, or waking up next to David. Five nights without going to bed with David. Patrick will be surrounded by his family, warm in his parents' home, while David is here. Alone.

"Maybe—" Patrick stops; the word was out of his mouth before he'd even thought it. At David's quiet hum, Patrick clears his throat and continues, "Maybe I should stay?"

"No, no, no." David is already sitting up, shaking his head. "I was not angling for that."

"No, I know you weren't, but—"

"But you've been planning your visit with your parents all month. Everything is arranged. They're expecting you."

"I know," Patrick says again, "but I can push it back to after the holidays." David is shaking his head again, but Patrick holds up a hand when he starts to speak. "It's the busiest season at the store, David. This is probably not the best time for me to be leaving, anyway."

"I can handle the store," David protests, head rearing back, offended.

Patrick softens. "I know you can."

" _And_ we've already hired Jocelyn on as our part-time holiday help, even though I told you it wasn't necessary."

"David, you have to admit she's very good with the customers."

"Yes. I can admit that." David nods, and Patrick can see the reluctance behind it. "Even if she insists on wearing a big, pointy elf's hat and jingle bells around the tops of her boots like some sort of Satan's Workshop ankle monitor."

"You mean Santa's workshop."

"Do I?" Eyes narrowed and head tilted to one side, David has never looked cuter.

Patrick bites his lip, his smile escaping, and reaches to pull David back to him. David comes easily, folding into his arms.

"You don't have to worry about me, or the store," he whispers into Patrick's neck. "Everything will be fine and waiting right here for you when you get back. You will have a lovely time with your parents, and I will have a lovely time house-sitting for you, enjoying your soft, new mattress and the water pressure in your shower." Patrick chuckles at that, settling his arms more securely around David. "Plus, Stevie mentioned something about wine and movies, so that should be fun. Or, at least we'll be drunk."

"So, you and Stevie are just going to... get drunk for Christmas? How will you set it apart from every other time you two hang out?"

"Well." David wiggles, happily. "I looked up a bunch of fun holiday drinks to try, which we probably won't even bother mixing. _And_ I'm making Stevie watch _The Holiday_ until she fully appreciates Kate Winslet as she should. She's forcing something called _Black Christmas_ on me, which I'm assuming is some sort of comedy? But we're doing mine first so I'll be too drunk to care about hers."

Nodding, Patrick rubs his cheek against the softness of David's hair.

"It's just..." He breathes in, the scent of David's shampoo filling his senses. David looks up at him with questioning eyebrows. "It's our first Christmas. You know. Together." He takes David's hand, intertwining their fingers. "And we won't be together."

David squeezes his hand and nuzzles into his neck. "Well, you know," he says, lowering his voice, "New Year's Eve is more important to me, anyway, and I have big plans for us that night."

"Oh?" Patrick croaks, leaning his head back to give David better access.

"Oh, yes," David breathes out, kissing his way down Patrick's neck, effectively distracting him for the rest of the night.

Days later, while organizing all the things he'll be needing to pack, Patrick has to dig under two of David's sweaters to find his own. It's the mustard-colored one his grandma gave him for Christmas last year. He's not even sure why he brought it with him when he moved; he's never worn it. He'll pack it anyway, and wear it at least once for her. Then maybe he'll forget it at his parents' house.

He refolds David's sweaters to put them back on the shelf, trying to keep them as neat as David likes. His eyes catch on the shelf below, white stripes on black, and the whole row of blacks and grays beneath that. Almost half of the items in Patrick's wardrobe belong to David. The sweater he wore last week is next to Patrick's navy blue hoodie, and the 'potential future ensembles' are all lined up and ready for David to choose from.

David is planning to stay in the apartment while Patrick's away — 'To have some time and space to myself,' he'd said — but now Patrick can only think of him sitting here alone in the empty apartment instead of sitting all alone at the motel. Patrick runs his fingertips over the black sweatshirt with white horizontal stripes down the middle, the material soft against his skin. David was wearing this the day they'd met. He'd looked soft in it then, too.

It takes him a second to realize his phone is ringing and, when he sees who's calling, he's ashamed that he hesitates to answer.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart!" She sounds so overjoyed, so enthusiastic just talking to him on the phone, that Patrick feels guilty all over again. "I just wanted to check in and see how everything is going."

"Everything is going good, Mom," he assures her. He hasn't been calling home enough and he can hear the questions simmering in her voice. He'd still been thinking about pushing his visit back, but how can he? She'd be so disappointed in him. "I'm just, uh, taking inventory, making sure I have everything I'll need for the trip."

"Are you sure about driving here? That's a long way to go all by yourself."

"I've made the drive before," Patrick says, without thinking, then could kick himself because the last time he'd 'made the drive' was when he'd left very suddenly and didn't come back.

There's a long silence before his mom says, "Well, just be extra careful on the road."

"I will, I promise." The silence extends. Patrick shoves his clothing over so he can sit on the bed. "Was there anything else you needed?" he asks. "Um, I mean, do you want me to bring anything special with me? We've made up a nice basket of products from the store for you. And Dad, but I think you'll get the most use out of them."

"You don't have to do that, honey. You should be saving right now, and investing in your new business."

"The store is doing really well," he says, trying not to sound defensive. His parents have been nothing but supportive of his new venture, and there's no reason for his hackles to be up, but... he just feels like he has to prove something to them.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," his mom replies, and she sounds. She sounds sincere, but also uncertain. Nervous. Anxious.

Patrick doesn't remember conversations with his parents being so strained before, but maybe they were. Maybe there have always been things they all just kept not saying.

"This must be quite a busy time of year," she says then, maybe just to keep the conversation going.

"It is, yeah. We've actually exceeded our sales projections already, and even hired on some holiday help, so please, don't worry about it. We're doing really well. We've added a few new vendors this season, too, specializing in holiday and winter themed decor. I'm bringing lots of new samples for you to try."

"Why don't you let us put in an order? You know we'd be happy to pay for everything."

"Mom, it's a gift," Patrick says. Then adds, "From both of us. David picked out everything and put it all together." He'd hand-picked every item, including the gift basket itself, and arranged everything just so. He'd even written out a card in beautiful calligraphy: _Happy Holidays to the Brewers, Love Patrick & David_

"That's very kind of David, be sure to thank him for us." And again, the sincerity in his mom's voice is colored over by a hesitance that Patrick isn't used to hearing from her.

"I will," he tells her, dutifully, but he's trying to imagine them thanking David themselves. In person. He can't quite picture it, his parents meeting David. What would their impression of him be? Would they see what Patrick saw the first time he'd met David? Bravery and possibilities.

"I feel like we should get him a gift, too," she says. Patrick starts to tell her it's not necessary, but she continues, "Though, I suppose David and his family don't really celebrate Christmas, do they? They're Jewish, right?"

"They are, yeah. Well, David likes to say he's a 'delightful half-half situation,'" Patrick says, smiling to himself at the memory of David telling him that. "Mrs. Rose was raised Catholic. Although, I think they've always celebrated in a more, uh, secular way. The past couple of years, though, they haven't, um, I mean I think they've been more low-key about Christmas."

"David's poor family went through quite a transition, it's not a wonder that they haven't been up to celebrating," his mom says, and Patrick isn't sure how to react for a moment. He's not sure why he's surprised; he knows his mother listens to him and he knows he must have mentioned the Roses more than once. Even if he hasn't been calling as often as he should. 

"Yeah. It was... an adjustment, for sure." He wonders how often he's mentioned David. His mom always asks about David, whenever they speak. She's even spoken to David herself on the phone a couple of times at the store. 

As if mere thoughts had summoned him, Patrick hears keys rattling in the door to his apartment. He realizes he's just been sitting on his bed amid his scattered belongings and quickly tosses his piles of clothing together into his suitcase just as David practically falls into the apartment with an armful of take-out containers. Patrick nods at him, trying not to laugh, and David starts to say something until he sees the phone pressed to Patrick's ear.

His mother is in the middle of saying, "...haps it might cheer them up a bit? I'm sure sending just one package overnight wouldn't cost too much."

"Sorry, Mom, what was that?" he asks, and David's face brightens, his mouth widening in a grin. He starts to wave one hand and nearly loses his grip on their dinner. Patrick hurries across the room to help before everything ends up on the floor.

"If we send them a little holiday cheer?" his mom is explaining. "I could bake another batch of Christmas cookies. Of course, they don't have to be Christmas cookies, they could just be cookies for any occasion."

Together, he and David just manage to deposit it all onto the little dining table without dumping anything.

"I'm sure everyone would love your Christmas cookies," Patrick says, frowning at David who has just clapped his hands and is miming something that Patrick can't even begin to decipher. Patrick mouths, 'What?' at him while trying to also pay attention to his mother. She would be mortified to know that they're talking about David while he's standing right here. He interrupts her, "Actually, Mom, his family all do have plans this year."

At that, David makes a pouty face and moves into the kitchen. While David gets some plates out, Patrick tells his mom about Mrs. Rose and The Jazzagals singing in Toronto. At _that_ , David flaps his hands in the air, dismissively, while still holding the plates. Patrick fears for breakables, sometimes.

"That sounds exciting!" his mom gushes over the phone. "Are they all going along to cheer her on?"

"Uh, well, Mr. Rose will be going," Patrick says; at which David rolls his eyes and turns away from the conversation to start setting the table. "But David's sister will be spending the day with her boyfriend."

"And David?"

"David..." At this, David turns toward him, eyebrows raised. "Is staying here," Patrick says, then realizes how that might sound, even if it's true. "I mean, he's staying here in town. He's—the store will be open. Not on Christmas, obviously, but the rest of the time." He's rambling and David is eyeing him from across the room. "David will be here, running the store," Patrick says, firmly.

"Oh." His mom almost sounds crestfallen. "I thought perhaps you'd both be getting a little time off? Especially since you've hired some employees?"

"We just have the one part-time holiday helper, really." Patrick switches his phone to the other ear and moves around the table to grab some cutlery from the drawer.

David reaches for the glasses at the same time. They do that awkward thing where they both go one way, then both go the other, do a kind of dance around each other, and laugh. Patrick's only been in his new apartment for a few weeks, and they're still learning to navigate the space together.

"One of us should probably be on hand," Patrick says to his mom, "and I'm—" He stops. David is watching him again. _I'm taking time away for this visit. I'm leaving David here alone._ Patrick wonders if he could somehow get his mom to suggest he not make the trip right now. Perhaps she'll tell him that he can visit anytime, and he owes it to David to stay.

"I guess that's how owning your own business works, huh?" his mom says. But also, "I'm very grateful that David is letting you take these few days off to come home for the holidays. We all miss you."

He pauses to look up at David.

"Yeah, I miss you all, too," Patrick says softly. He watches the way David's face transforms, the way his eyes go soft and shiny and his lips pucker in a tiny frown-smile.

"And it's so sweet of David to let his parents have a little getaway. I'm sure they need it," says his mom, and she has no idea. No idea of how much his parents do need it, or how sweet David is. "But I hate to think of him all alone there."

So does Patrick. The moment breaks and David takes the cutlery from Patrick's hands to finish setting the table.

"He won't be. His fr—our friend, Stevie." He's sure he's mentioned Stevie before. "They're having Christmas together."

"Just the two of them?" his mom asks. "That sounds cozy."

Patrick flushes at the tone of her voice. He's not sure if it's because he knows the implications are ridiculous, or because his mother doesn't.

"It's not—they're just friends, mom," he stutters out, and swats at David who's shimmying his shoulders and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Well, you never know," she says, and he can hear her making that innocent 'who me' face. "Holidays can be romantic."

Patrick shakes his head at David, who's still smirking, and not thinking about missing out on holiday romance. "I'm pretty sure Stevie will be making David watch horror movies all day, which he hates—"

"What?!" David yelps, the first real sound he's made this whole time. Patrick spins away from him, back toward the bedroom. Then he turns around because he's not—he's not keeping David a secret. It was just... awkward, to interrupt the conversation with his mom to tell her that David was here. That's all. David's hunched over the kitchen counter, brandishing the corkscrew in one hand, and a bottle in the other.

"No, wait!" Patrick says, too loudly, and David almost drops the bottle. Patrick's mom chirps in surprise over the phone. Patrick takes two large steps back into the kitchen. "I set aside a bottle," he explains to David, leaning past him for the wine he'd saved just for tonight. It's their last dinner together before Patrick leaves and he'd wanted to make it special.

"Sweetheart? Do you have... company?"

"I—uh. Sorry, Mom." He hands the bottle to David, who makes a pleased noise, and clears his throat before answering her. "Yeah. Yes. David's here. He... brought dinner."

"Oh. Isn't that lovely of him."

"Hi, Mrs. Brewer!" David waves at the phone as though Patrick's mom can see him.

"David says hi," Patrick relays.

"I heard. Tell him hello for me."

"My mom says hi back," Patrick tells David, loving the way his smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"You know, I'm so glad you've made friends there," his mom says, but it somehow sounds like she's sad again. "Everyone sounds so wonderful."

"It's a—it's certainly an interesting town, full of characters," he says, amused watching expressions dance across David's face.

"I wish we could meet all of these interesting folk, your new friends and especially David. I think your father is just dying to talk business with him."

Patrick can't help but let out a little chuckle.

"I'm sure David would enjoy that," he says, grinning at the suspicious look David sends him. "And I—I would love for you to meet him. And everyone." He wonders if they could visit in the spring. By then he'll have told them all about David. And himself. And they'll have had time to adjust, and... and accept him.

He is not expecting his mom to say, "What if you bring David with you for Christmas?"

The world just... pauses then. Patrick reminds himself to breathe. Is he breathing? _No._ He breathes. _Does she know? Have they figured him out?_

"I know it's short notice," she continues, "and he has work obligations, but surely he deserves a few days off, too."

"He's—Stevie."

"Invite her, as well! We have plenty of room."

"You really don't..." Patrick replies numbly, thinking about the cramped little house he grew up in.

"Well, no, but we'll make room." His mom sighs. "I understand if they can't come, but I don't like the thought of your new friends being alone for the holidays. And we'd really love to get to know them. It would be so much fun, Patrick."

"Uhh..."

"And then you wouldn't have to drive all this way on your own. I'd feel so much better knowing you had someone with you."

Patrick closes his eyes. "I—I guess I could ask?" 

"Is David still there?"

"What?" Patrick opens his eyes and looks right at David. "He—yeah. He's here."

"Put him on, let me talk to him."

Patrick takes the phone from his ear and stares at it for a second. Then he looks over at David again. "My mom wants to talk to you."

He holds the phone out and David just sits there. Then he nods, and stands up from the table, and lifts one hand to fix his hair into place.

"Um, okay." David takes the phone. "Hi, Mrs. Brewer... I mean, Marcy, of course... Um, yes, my family will be away for Christmas... Oh! Oh, that—that is very kind of you, but I would hate to intrude... Oh, well thank you. But I also have to... Yes, I guess I think she's very reliable."

It's a strange kind of torture hearing only one side of this conversation. As far as Patrick knows, his mom has really only talked with David about the store. At the store. He wonders how it would go, if David were to just _say_ something, anything that implied they were more than just business partners. He both dreads the possibility and imagines the relief of not carrying that dread any longer. He wouldn't have to rehearse in his head how to tell them anymore, wouldn't be imagining the looks on their faces. It would be over. The fear of what could happen next is still there, though.

"It—it could work, yes," David is saying when Patrick tunes back in. "But um, I—I sort of made plans with my—Stevie, yes... Well, I suppose I could ask her?" David stops moving about in circles and looks over at Patrick. "Oh... That—that does sound nice, actually." He smiles then, one of those soft, unexpected smiles that slowly lights up his eyes. "I think I can do that... Yes, thank you so much, Mis—Marcy... Okay, I'll hand you back now."

He passes the phone back to Patrick. "Mom?"

"I think that's settled then?" she says, sounding pleased.

"Is it?"

"David's going to ask your friend Stevie to come along, and he seems to think the shop will be well taken care of. I told him all about our family dinner and our big Christmas morning breakfast, and of course he doesn't need to worry about bringing anything, except himself. And you, of course! I told him to just bring me my boy." She sounds so happy, and Patrick can hear the tears in her voice. "Oh, I can't wait to see you, my sweet boy. And meet your new friends."

Patrick looks up at David, at David's hunched shoulders and worrisome expression, and says to his mom, "Yeah. We can't wait to see you, too." They say their 'goodbye's and their 'I love you's, and Patrick clenches his phone in both hands after the call ends.

"Um," David says, his voice small and shy, "I think your mother just made me promise to come home with you for Christmas. And bring Stevie, too?"

Patrick tosses his phone onto the couch and goes to David, runs his hands up David's arms until they rest on his shoulders.

"You don't have to come, David," he says, even though now that it's out there, he realizes that he'd love for David to spend Christmas with him and his family. He _wants_ David to meet his parents, wants David there with him when he tells them. But he doesn't want to push David, or make him uncomfortable.

David is currently pressing his lips together, his eyes darting off to the side, and Patrick peers up at him closely.

"Unless... unless you'd like to come with me?" he asks, hopeful.

"I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be," Patrick responds quickly, then tries to take it down a notch. "I mean, I would—I'd really like you to be there with me." He presses his own lips together, and watches David's face carefully, the way he watches Patrick back through his eyelashes.

"If you're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm very sure," Patrick promises, squeezing David's shoulders. David's mouth skews to the right to meet that dimple there.

"Well, okay then," he says, finally letting his smile come out. "If I can convince Stevie."

"Okay." Patrick laughs, pulling David into a hug. David wraps his arms around Patrick and everything feels just right.

"Oh my god!" David pulls back. "I have to pack!" He starts toward the bedroom, but Patrick grabs his hand.

"I think that can wait until after dinner," he says, hoping their food hasn't already gone cold. "Also—" He swallows, wondering if he should wait until after they eat. But. No. "I have to tell you something, first."

David stands up tall, as though bracing himself, but he doesn't let go of Patrick's hand. "Okay?"

"Right." Patrick nods to himself. "So. You remember after, um... after Rachel, uhh, was here?"

David tips his head to one side and shifts his weight. "I have a vague recollection."

"And remember how, um, after she left, and after we...?" Patrick gestures between them. "I had planned to go visit my parents later that month. And." He licks his lips. "And I was going to tell them? Everything?"

"Mmhmm."

"And then remember how we had that huge shipment mixup, and I didn't do that?"

"Yes, Patrick, I know you haven't been to see your parents in almost a year, and that's why going for Christmas is so important to you."

"Yes. It is. And I want you to come with me, more than I realized. I want you there." He takes David's other hand, clutching both of them now. "It's just..."

"Patrick." David's voice is too soft. "I understand if it's too soon—"

"No! That's not it."

"Really, it's okay. Meeting your parents is a big thing. I can come up with an excuse not to—"

"I still haven't told them yet," Patrick blurts out. "About us. About me."

He waits, but David just breathes out, something that sounds like the tiniest _oh_.

"You're upset. I would be, too." He squeezes David's hands. "I just didn't—I don't want to do it over the phone. I had planned to tell them when I saw them next, but then I didn't go, and we were doing so great here, business was really picking up, and I started feeling so at home with you and your family, and we..." _Said 'I love you' to each other for the first time_.

"I understand," David says again, his voice and eyes watery, and it's devastating. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Patrick insists. "It's not. I was planning to do it during this visit. I even wrote out a whole speech in a Christmas card that I was going to give to them."

David sniffs. "You wrote a speech?" His brows furrow when he looks up at Patrick. "Can I read it?"

"I threw it away because I didn't like it. It got very long and kind of went in circles and I scribbled out a bunch of parts to rewrite them when all I really wanted to say is—" Patrick huffs a little laugh. "All I need to tell them is that I love you, David. And I want them to know you. To know us. But I need to be there in person, I need to see their faces, and I... I'd really love it if you were there with me."

David pulls his hands out of Patrick's grasp to wipe away the wetness from his eyes. Patrick's fingers curl inward, bereft at the loss.

"So," David says, turning in a small circle, as if to reacclimate himself to their surroundings. "Your mother just invited me, whom she believes to be just your business partner—"

"And friend."

"And Stevie—" he gestures widely, "whom she thinks is some random, lonely townie—"

"And friend."

"To spend Christmas with you and basically your entire family?" David stops and looks at him again. "I'm sorry, but is your mother a real person? Nobody does that."

"She's not normally so, uh, forceful. I think maybe she just feels..." Patrick pauses to really think about it. "I think she's just. Scared. Because I left, and I still haven't really explained anything to them, and I'm not sure I know how."

He hadn't realized how much he needed it until David returns to him and envelops him in a hug, winding his arms around Patrick's neck.

"Okay, what you're dealing with is very personal," David whispers in his ear, "and it's something you should only do on your terms." He leans back to look Patrick in the eye, his large hands massaging Patrick's shoulders gently. "That's why I brought this couple home one day in college and just told my parents to deal with it."

That startles a laugh out of him, and _this_ , this is why he loves David so much. He slides his hands down David's back until they're just resting on his hips.

"David, I really want you to meet my parents and spend the holiday with us, but I understand if you'd rather not, in light of... this."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself," David says, holding his gaze. "And on your parents." He squeezes Patrick's shoulders once more. "And on me."

Those words drop into Patrick's stomach like a stone.

"It's too much." He nods, backing out of David's arms. "You're right, I can't ask this of you."

"No, that's not what—" David reels him back in, holding him more firmly, securely. "Holidays are already stressful. I'm—I'm okay if you want to wait until after."

And he sees that David means it. He knows this must be hurting David because it's hurting him, too, and still David is willing to wait for him.

"I'm not," he says, gripping David's sides. "I mean, I don't think I will be okay with that. I don't want to wait. And I'd—I'd really, really like you there with me, but I can go alone. I'll do it alone, if I have to—"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll come with you. I'll be there with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," David says, his voice a little shaky but his stance strong and determined. _Bravery and possibilities._ Patrick has to kiss him.

A moment later, David pulls back and gasps, "But now I really do have to pack!"

Patrick can't contain his happiness. He drags David in for one more kiss, then tells him, "I still think we can eat dinner first."

They sit down together at Patrick's tiny dining table, grinning stupidly at each other. Their food has cooled considerably, but it's Chinese and David says it's better cold anyway. Patrick opens the bottle of wine he'd saved for tonight.

"Fancy," David remarks, accepting a glass.

"I wanted to make tonight special," he admits, and now it's kind of special for a different reason. Coming clean to David feels so good. He hadn't fully realized the weight he'd been carrying, holding all this inside. Patrick hopes it goes this well with his parents. He watches David, the most beautiful man he's ever seen, stuff an eggroll in his mouth, his eyes and mouth going wide.

"Ahhhh, hot! Ith thill hot!" David drops the other half of the eggroll to his plate, fanning himself wildly with his hands. Patrick gets up to get him a glass of water. He sets it down next to David's plate, but he's already taking a big gulp of wine. He sticks his tongue out afterward, hands still flapping, reminding Patrick of something.

"By the way," he says, nudging the glass of water closer to David, "what were you trying to tell me earlier?"

"What? When?" David grabs the glass and takes a long drink.

"When I was on the phone, you clapped your hands at me and you were doing this?" Patrick tries to imitate the hand flailing.

"Oh." David tips his head back, eyes closed, and starts nodding to himself. "Yeah, just that I would love some Christmas cookies?"

Patrick can feel the joy, the contentment, the elation welling up inside of him. _This is going to be a good Christmas._ "There will be plenty of cookies when we get to my parents' house," he assures David.

"And I can't wait," David says, shoving the other half of his eggroll in his mouth.

* * *

David takes a deep breath, then marches down the walkway to the motel lobby. He pushes the door open and begins speaking before he's even fully inside. "Okay, so. We have new plans for Christmas."

Stevie looks up from behind her computer screen. "You and Patrick?"

"No, you and me," he says, pointing at her then himself. "Well, and Patrick," he adds, waving his hand. "And his parents. And assorted other family members."

Stevie's eyebrows scrunch in a cute, yet unflattering manner. "What?"

"We," he says, sauntering over to lean against the desk, "are going with Patrick to his parents' house. For Christmas." He gives the last part some emphasis with his shoulders.

Bending forward to peer more closely at him, Stevie says, slowly, "Why?"

"Um, because his mother invited us?"

"No, I get why you'd be going," she says, plopping her elbows on the desk and her chin in her hands. "Why am I involved?"

David straightens his spine, and brings his hands together in front of his chest. And then apart. He opens his mouth. And suddenly his hands are on his hips.

"Right. So," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. Then shakes himself out of that position and leans casually against the desk again. "Remember this summer?"

He explains the whole situation. When he's finished, Stevie just stares at him.

Finally, she says, "That is a terrible idea."

"I'll be sure to tell Patrick you said that because it was his mother's idea."

"It was his mother's idea to invite his secret boyfriend and his secret boyfriend's friend to spend Christmas with them where Patrick will drop the bomb that he has a secret boyfriend?"

"Okay, stop saying secret boyfriend. That should be way sexier than you're making it sound. And no. I mean, only the first half of that was his mom's idea. Obviously she doesn't know the secret part." He finds his arms are folded over his chest again and tries to relax. "Also. It's not a secret. _I_ am not a secret. He just... hasn't had a chance to tell them, yet."

It's fine that Patrick hasn't told his parents yet. David gets it. Or, he doesn't, really. He'd never cared what anyone thought about his sexuality. He'd definitely told himself he didn't care enough times to make it true. But he knows that Patrick's parents mean a lot to him, that their opinion is important. Their opinion of David is extremely important. To Patrick.

And he doesn't need that look on Stevie's face.

"So. Are you coming with us, or not?"

"I do have my own Christmas traditions."

"Mhm, and we all agreed that they were very sad and you should come with us."

She glares at him, sitting back in her seat, and returns her attention to the computer. She's probably just playing stupid games or looking up bigfoot pictures again. David can't take this. He stands up on his tip-toes to drape himself over the desk and into her space, blocking her mouse hand.

"You have to say yes," he begs.

"Why? What's in it for me?"

"Um. I've been promised all kinds of Christmas cookies that I will happily share with you."

"Sugar isn't _my_ main motivator."

"Okay. There will be other kinds of food. _Free_ food," he adds before she can dismiss that. "And booze. Probably. I don't know what sort of parties his family would throw, to be honest."

"Keep talking." She's still clicking her mouse even though she can't possibly see around his head right now. "Still not sure why you need me to go."

"We are moral support," he proclaims, sliding out of her way and off the desk because it's starting to hurt his stomach. "I'm there to support Patrick. And you..." he trails off, not knowing how to finish that. Stevie stops pretending she's interested in her computer and really looks at him. David wraps his arms around himself, and whispers, "What if it doesn't go well? I don't want Patrick to have to choose between me and his family. Please, Stevie. He asked me to be there with him. And I—"

After a long moment, Stevie gusts out a big sigh. "Fiiiine. But I will absolutely not be participating in anything festive. No caroling, or cookie decorating. No ugly sweaters—"

"Ew. Of course not."

"No gift games! I'm not buying gifts. I will be there to eat food and get drunk."

"And support me."

"If I must."

David does something very uncharacteristic of him, and it feels weird the whole time, but he rounds the side of the desk and wraps his arms around Stevie from behind. Her hair smells like oranges and her bony shoulder digs into his ribcage.

"Thank you," he says, probably loud enough for her to hear. He'd said he didn't want Patrick to choose between David and his family, but what David really meant was that he won't be able to take it in the event that Patrick chooses his family over David.

He's back on the other side of the desk and almost to the door without waiting for a response. As he's stepping outside, he calls over his shoulder, "We're leaving tomorrow morning, make sure you pack enough for five days and nights, 'kay, byee!"

The next morning does not get off to a smooth start.

"It's the busy season, David," his dad says, as David sails around him with an armful of sweaters. "You can't take Stevie away from the motel for a whole week!"

"It's five days, and you won't even be here for half of them anyway." David stacks the sweaters into his suitcase. It doesn't leave room for much else.

"That's the point. We're running a business here."

"Mm, I guess someone should have thought of that," David says, wishing he could just ignore his dad. Or that his parents had gone to the café for breakfast this morning like they usually do. He starts rearranging his sweaters, trying to make everything fit. "Aren't you supposed to be packing, too? In _your own room_."

"Your mother's in charge of that. Although, I should make sure she doesn't forget to pack my undergarments. Again," he mutters, heading back through to the adjoining bedroom.

"Ew!" Alexis cries, sitting on her bed being absolutely no use to anyone.

"Don't worry, Mr. Rose," Stevie calls after him. "I've already talked to Roland about taking care of everything while we're gone."

He spins back around in the doorway. "We're leaving _Roland_ in charge of the motel?!"

From the other room, David hears his mother say, "Ah, perhaps it won't be here when we return." He ignores that, too, and accepts the extra bag that Stevie brought for him. It's a dirty, nylon gym bag, but he supposes it's good enough for his shoes.

His dad pulls Stevie aside. "Maybe Jocelyn could, uh, be here to help Roland out?"

"Nope," David says, heading past them to collect his toiletries from the bathroom. "I've already got dibs on Jocelyn; she's running the store while Patrick and I are gone."

"Um, hello?" Alexis sits up, tossing her magazine aside. "I will be here. I'm spending Christmas with Ted, but I'm the only one who isn't actually leaving town."

"There," David says to the room at large. "Alexis is volunteering to work the motel for you."

"Oh." Alexis shakes her head, grabbing up her magazine again. "No, I won't be doing that."

"Now, honey—" his dad starts, but his mom appears in the doorway, interrupting him with, "David, you wouldn't perhaps be stealing away with Mummy's alligator bag again, would you?"

"Oh my god, I didn't take your bag. And obviously, I'm only packing my own things."

"Yes, I can see that," she says, looking judgmentally at his overflowing suitcase and extra bags scattered about. "Shouldn't you have started packing earlier? This all looks to be a bit haphazard, dear."

"Yeah, David, this feels very sketchy and last-minutey. Are you sure Patrick's parents actually invited you? Or is this like that time you thought Nate Berkus invited you to Ibiza and you got stranded in the airport for two weeks?"

"Choke on your own hair, Alexis." David finally manages to get his suitcase closed and he zips it with added force. Obviously David wouldn't leave packing to the last minute; he'd planned out all of his wardrobe choices and contingency options yesterday, it's just that his family had been home all night and he was trying to avoid this very thing.

His dad is still lingering in the doorway. "You know, meeting the parents is a very big step, son. Are you sure you're... prepared for that?"

"Thanks so much, I'm doing great." David hefts his suitcase off the bed and turns to find Stevie. "Could you maybe take this?" he asks. She gives him an incredulous look, but she takes the suitcase and slips out the door, probably just to escape this circus.

"It's just that—" his dad starts, but David cuts him off.

"Everything is fine. Patrick and I are fine, and his parents are fine, and this whole thing will be fine. This is precisely why I didn't want to tell you before now. I have everything under control. And you're all going to be gone for Christmas, too."

"Yeah, _eveyone's_ going on a trip but me." Alexis throws her magazine down again. "Ugh, this is exactly like that time I came home from boarding school and you had all left without me."

"You didn't come home from school, though," David snaps. "You went to Brazil with Paris because she was still fighting with Nicole."

"Um, okay, obviously that was, like, a work trip for planning our new reality show. And I was _going_ to come home, but you were in London following Kamilah with all your loser artist friends, and Mom and Dad were on that desert excursion."

"You mean that hostage crisis!" his mother wails just as Stevie comes back into the room. David puts his head in his hands.

"Never get on an airplane with Mel Gibson," his dad mutters in a low tone.

"We don't speak that name, John!"

"Oh, right," Alexis says, "I forgot that's when Rita was eaten by camels."

"And we do not mention that! She was so young! And I've never been able to replace her!"

"Who was Rita?" Stevie asks, but both of David's parents have retreated to their room, his mother still crying and his father mumbling after her.

Alexis pointedly runs her fingers through her hair until Stevie gets it. Honestly, Rita wasn't a huge loss, as far as David was concerned. She'd looked just like Magdalena, only honey blonde, and his mother never wore her very often.

"It's definitely time to go," he says, handing Stevie his other bag.

"Patrick isn't here, yet," she says, not taking it.

"Just help me get out of this room."

* * *

Patrick still isn't here with the car, so Stevie sets David's suitcase and duffel by the desk in the motel office while David gathers the rest of his things. She only has her backpack and her messenger bag to bring with her. After talking with Patrick, it didn't sound like she'd need anything formal or fancy to wear so she's only packed the basics.

While she's busy writing out the rest of her detailed notes and instructions to leave for Roland, she looks around trying to think of anything else she should add. She's feeling oddly protective of this little place, and proud of all the work she's put in. This isn't quite how she'd pictured her life, but she almost can't imagine a life without the Roses in it.

She's making sure the post-its surrounding the computer screen, keyboard, and phone are in the correct order when Patrick pops his head in the door.

"Hey, Stevie. Are you ready? David's in the car already and he keeps telling me to hurry up and get us out of here before anything else happens. Has something happened?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Rose are just being... Mr. and Mrs. Rose."

"Right." Patrick walks into the room and heads directly for the bags on the floor. "Is this it for you?" he asks, grabbing the handle of the suitcase.

"That's David's," she tells him, and Patrick nods. Then he picks up the duffel, the one David rarely goes anywhere without. "That, too."

"Of course, he needs one bag for each day we'll be gone. You need some help, or...?"

"I've got it." Stevie hooks her backpack over one shoulder and grabs her pillow and sleeping bag off the floor.

"Oh, you don't need to bring a sleeping bag. My parents have a guest room."

"This is for in the car. It's a five hour drive, I'm not staying awake for that."

"What was I thinking."

She follows him out to his car, making sure to lock the motel office behind her. She's pretty sure that Roland has his own key. David is already in the passenger seat with a coffee from the café in his hand. Patrick must've stopped there first. She opens the back passenger side door and starts to climb in.

"I don't think you packed enough, David," she says, "there's still three inches of space back here."

"Hang on, Stevie," Patrick says, coming back around the car again. He takes one of the bags out of the backseat and moves it to the trunk. Stevie tosses her backpack and pillow in, then she unrolls her sleeping bag and pulls it into the car with her. Looks like she'll be using whatever's in this red backpack as cushioning.

While Patrick is busy in the trunk playing luggage tetris, Stevie leans into the front seat to speak to David. "We can still back out, you know."

David makes a low humming noise and just hands her a coffee from the tray in his lap. One coffee won't hinder her sleeping, so Stevie takes it and doesn't say anything else. If David wants her to fake an emergency and get them out of this, he has about five more seconds to speak up. She studies him closely; he's only sipping his coffee, not gulping it, and his hands are busy scrolling through his phone. Stevie thinks that maybe... he doesn't want to get out of this.

The driver's side door opens and Patrick gets in. He slaps his hands on the wheel and turns to them. His grin looks a bit wild, but he sounds normal when he says, "Alright, we all set? David, seatbelt. Stevie—"

"I'm sleeping," she reminds him, and hands her coffee to whoever will take it. Hunkering down in her blanket and fluffing her pillow up, Stevie makes herself comfortable and closes her eyes. She feels the car backing out of the parking lot and pulling onto the road. It's only a little bumpy, but the motion is sure to lull her to sleep.

She listens to the two of them up front bickering over the road trip music, and she remembers rides like this when she was a little kid. All bundled up in the backseat while her parents argued in the front. The last time was a cold winter day just like now. That one Christmas when her parents took her over to Nana Budd's house. It was snowing and the radio was set to a country station. They got to Nana's house late on Christmas Eve; it was dark out and the lights on the tree glowed in the window. Her mom carried her into the house, and her dad tucked her blanket all around her. In the morning, Nana told her that her parents had had to go out for a little while. They never came back.

Slowly, Stevie's body registers that the car is no longer moving. Buried deep in her blanket nest, she listens for road sounds and hears none. But she does hear hushed voices.

"I know my parents are good people... I just can't shake this fear that they might see me differently, or treat me differently—"

She hears David making quiet shushing sounds, the creak and groan of car seats as someone moves. "You don't have to do this now, Patrick. They only think you've brought some new friends home; we can just let them think that. I could be... just your business partner. While we're here."

Stevie bites down the sound she almost made. She definitely shouldn't be listening to this.

"No, David," Patrick says, "I can't let you do that."

"It's okay. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me."

And Stevie is proud of him, for sounding so firm, and a little bit relieved that she's not going to have to break Patrick's nose.

"I want to tell them. I need them to know. If it's... if it doesn't go well, then we can just turn around and drive right back home."

"I'm definitely going to need food before we do any more driving," David says, and Patrick laughs softly.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

Stevie lets the kissing sounds go on for a bit before she makes a peep and pretends to jerk awake, kicking her feet in her blanket. She finds she is actually a little bit trapped and fights her way out. When she emerges, sweeping her hair out of her face, both David and Patrick are craning around their seats to look at her.

"Are we there yet?" she asks as petulantly as she can.

"How do you manage to look like Swamp Thing when you wake up?" David asks, reaching over to brush a clump of her hair back. Stevie ducks out of range.

Patrick is already turning around in his seat and putting the car in gear. "We're almost there, it's a block up. I just stopped to... check something."

She sees David's hand silently slide across the center console to briefly touch Patrick's side, and she says nothing.

The neighborhood they drive through is tightly packed full of well-maintained, but not exactly new, homes. Stevie isn't sure what she was expecting. A big, white house at the end of a cul-de-sac, picket fence, snowy pines all around? But the house that Patrick parks in front of is a rusty brown brick, kind of on the small side. The lawn is covered by snow, and there's only one tree out front. The walkway is freshly shoveled and the bushes under the front windows are neatly trimmed. She's pretty sure she sees those geese statues that people like to put different outfits on. These are dressed in red hooded capes with white fur trim. The two skinny, white columns holding up the front porch roof are wrapped diagonally in matching wide red ribbon mimicking the image of candy canes, and there's a massive green wreath on the door.

Before Patrick even has a chance to turn the car off, the door to the house opens and an older couple, presumably Patrick's parents, step out onto the little front porch.

David squeezes Patrick's hand, out of sight below window level, and starts to gather himself. "The cheese!" he gasps. "I was going to bring your parents some of the cranberry walnut cheese from Warner Farms, and a bottle of the Pinot Grigio, but I forgot to get it from the store."

David clutches the sides of his head very dramatically, and Stevie clutches her messenger bag still strapped across her chest.

"David." Patrick pushes David's hands down, delicately. "It's fine. You put plenty of items in the gift basket. My mom will probably like the chocolates more, anyway."

"Yes, chocolate is good. Okay." David breathes. "Okay," he says again, visibly calming. "Oh, here they come."

Patrick's parents make their way over to greet them at the car, all bundled up in their matching blue puffer coats. Stevie only gets a glimpse of them before Patrick is out of the car and hugging them both. He looks like his dad, Stevie thinks, but he must have gotten his height from his mom. She's about to remark on the happy family reunion, but David opens his door and joins them before she has a chance.

He presents them with his gift basket, shiny silver bow sparkling in the afternoon light. Patrick's dad shakes David's hand, and his mom pulls David in for a hug. Everyone is smiling, laughing, happy. Stevie watches from inside the car. Eventually, they spot her, and she has to open her door and get out, too.

She says 'hello' and half-waves, but makes sure to keep hold of her bags. If her arms are full, she can't shake hands or hug anyone. Patrick's parents — Marcy and Clint, they insist — shoo her and David on to the house to get out of the cold, while Patrick opens the trunk to start unloading their bags.

Inside the house is warm, and smells of cinnamon and chocolate. Marcy sets the huge gift basket from David down and tries to take their coats, but Stevie's hands are still full. She opens her messenger bag to pull out her own hostess gift.

"Um, this is for you, Mi—Marcy. Thank you. For inviting me."

"That's so thoughtful of you, Stevie," Marcy says, taking the plastic bag from her and looking inside. "Oh, very thoughtful. Cranberry walnut sounds delicious, and Clint loves a good Pinot Grigio. I'm just going to pop this in the kitchen, and I'll put this beautiful basket from David under the tree. Be right back." She turns and disappears through a doorway. 

David whacks Stevie on the arm, hissing, "You stole my wine and cheese!"

"You forgot it."

"And you're giving it to them in a plastic Brebner's shopping bag?!"

"It was all I had." Stevie shrugs. "The important thing is that they have it now, right?"

Before David can say more, the door opens behind them, letting in a gust of cold air and Patrick and Clint lugging the rest of the bags. Stevie shuffles out of the way so they have space to get everything in.

"Oh, goodness," Marcy says, returning to the front hall and taking in the mound of baggage. "Let's get this all squared away first. Come in, come in. Clint, close that door, you're letting all the heat out." She ushers them all in and this time manages to get everyone's coat to hang in the closet. "Now. We'll put Stevie in the guest room. And, David, you can take Patrick's old bedroom."

"Oh." Patrick looks between them, unblinking. "Yeah. We can share."

"What?" Marcy laughs. "Don't be silly, sweetheart. I'm not going to force two grown men to share a room. What are you going to do, sleep on the floor? No, no, I'll make up the couch in the den for you."

"Oh." Patrick nods, and Stevie can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed. "Oh, yeah. That, uh, that makes sense."

Marcy turns to Stevie and David. "You'll have to share a bathroom. I hope that's okay?"

David gives her a soft smile, the one he uses with customers and vendors. "I've been sharing a bathroom with my sister for at least three eternities now, so this will be a welcome reprieve."

"All right then, let me just..." Marcy bends down to start gathering up the bags, but Patrick stops her.

"Mom, I can get it. I'll show them the way and get everyone settled."

"Okay, but hurry back out here. I could use some taste-testers in the kitchen," she says, with a wink, and Stevie doesn't miss the way David's face lights up.

Patrick leads them through the house toward the bedrooms, lurching awkwardly with two suitcases and a backpack, bumping into furniture as he goes. David is carrying his duffel, Stevie has her own bags, and Clint brings up the rear with two more in hand.

They venture down a longer hallway, with four doors at the end of it. The walls are lined with framed photos, and Stevie stops short at one in particular. It must be Patrick in middle school, posing in a baseball uniform with a bat resting on one shoulder. What catches Stevie's eye is what appears to be a mop on top of his head.

"Oh wow, look at his hair," she says, not entirely meaning to. David hears her and backs up to look, too.

"Excuse me," he says, a smirk evident in his voice. "You can grow hair like this and I was not informed?" He waits for Patrick to come back and stand by his side.

"My hair hasn't been that long since high school," Patrick says.

"But we could have so much fun with that hair," David purrs, leaning close to Patrick's ear. He seems to realize that Patrick's dad is also standing there and hurriedly adds, "With styling! And... and testing out new products for the store. I can only test so much on my own hair." David's free hand flutters up to his hair, as though a single piece could be out of place, while Patrick's face turns pink in the dim hall light.

"Patrick never did know what to do with his hair," Clint says. "I imagine you could show him a few things, David." 

Stevie sees David exchange a look with Patrick, and wonders how anyone can't tell that Patrick thinks the sun rises and sets with David. Which would be very inconvenient for the rest of the world, if the sun came up around 9AM and set some time after midnight. Stevie certainly needs more awake hours of darkness to fully thrive.

The guest room appears to be something of a catch-all, with a sewing table set up in one corner and a cube storage unit stuffed with craft supplies in the other. But there is a bed that's all made up and looks fairly comfortable. Patrick's bedroom is right across the hall and Stevie tries to let him and David have a moment in there alone, but Clint is sort of hovering. They all stash their bags before being herded back to the kitchen where Marcy is pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven.

"Oh good," she says, when they all crowd into the room. "Who's going to be my helper with these cookies?"

"Um, does that involve tasting?" David asks, actually raising his hand. Stevie rolls her eyes; she definitely didn't sign up for this. She wonders if she could slip back to the guest room. She also wonders how she can ask for the wi-fi password without being rude.

"I'm going to need Patrick as _my_ helper," Clint says, resting his hands on Patrick's shoulders from behind. "We're going to show that old goat a real Christmas light show this year!" He cackles, clapping his hands together. "Get your coat, son!"

"Don't you be climbing any ladders!" Marcy calls after him without looking, busy herself rifling through the pantry.

Stevie and David share wide-eyed looks and Patrick leans in to whisper to them, "There's a Best Lights in the Neighborhood contest. My dad has been in a feud with the old guy down the road since I was a kid over who'll win every year."

"Is this where you get it from?" David asks.

Patrick blinks at him. "Get what?" 

"If your father is hijacking you for his nonsense," Marcy says, backing out of the pantry with an armful of stuff, "that means I get David and Stevie."

"Oh, I'm—I'm not really great in the kitchen," Stevie says, trying to back away.

"I helped my mom cook," David says in far too haughty a tone for what sort of 'helping' and 'cooking' that was. Stevie shoots a glare at him, but he isn't paying attention to her. 

"You don't need any experience," Marcy says, laying all kinds of things out on the little kitchen island. "Chocolate chip cookies are the easiest in the world. This is how I taught Patrick to bake when he was a kid."

"I'm sorry." David turns to him now. "You know how to bake?"

"I know the basics," Patrick says. "I wouldn't say I'm great at it."

"Ah, that's why you don't do it." Stevie smirks at him. "If you can't be the best."

"What? That's not—" Patrick stutters while his mom silently chuckles at him.

"Oh, she's got your number, honey," she says.

"Patrick!" Clint calls from the front door.

"You'd better go." Marcy shoos him out of the kitchen. "Don't you let him on a ladder."

"I won't, Mom." Patrick takes one last look back at them all before heading out.

And this is how Stevie finds herself with sticky batter all over her hands and flour in her hair. David is actually very good at following the directions in a recipe and Stevie is kind of annoyed about it. Also, if they both keep eating the chocolate chips, there won't be enough for the cookies. Marcy is actually making more than just chocolate chip cookies. She has four different kinds to bake and starts taking already made dough out of the fridge.

The doorbell rings while Marcy is showing David how to mold some kind of peanut butter thing with his fingers. She looks up at Stevie and asks, "Do you think you could answer that for me?"

"Oh—oh, sure." Stevie wipes hers hands off and goes to answer the door. It's much cooler as soon as she steps out of the kitchen. She tries to brush the flour out of her hair and ends up leaving a streak of butter in it instead. "Ugh." She wipes her hands again on her jeans so she can pull the door open.

On the other side is a familiar face. "Oh! Oh, gosh. Hi. Um, it's... Stevie, right?"

"It is. That is me." Stevie nods. "Hi, Rachel."

Outside there's a thunderous clatter; Stevie and Rachel both look out just in time to see a blue-grey blur that resembles Patrick tumbling off the roof.

* * *


	2. A Comedy of Shenanigans

* * *

"Patrick?"

"Oh my god, Patrick!"

"Sweetheart?"

"Wow, he looks almost as white as the snow."

"I think he's coming to. Son? Can you hear us?"

Patrick's vision swims into focus. The bright blue of the sky is blocked by the five faces looking down at him. He tries to draw breath, his lungs aching. The last time he'd had the wind knocked out of him so hard, he was ten years old and his cousin Sean had knocked him out of the hayloft at their grandparents' house. He'd also broken his arm then. Other than lack of oxygen, he feels all right now as he coughs and wheezes and lets out a long, low groan.

"Don't move, honey, I'm going to call an ambulance."

"What—" Patrick coughs again. "Mom, no! No, I'm fine, I'm—" He tries to sit up, but he feels his father's large hand on his shoulder keeping him in place. He looks up, past his dad and his mom's concerned face, eyes skating over Stevie and Rachel, until they catch on David and the deep furrow of his eyebrows, the straight line of his mouth. Patrick smiles up at him. "I'm fine. Really."

Rolling onto his side, Patrick draws his legs under him and, oh, he's going to be sore later. He can feel that landing in the tenseness of his muscles. He manages to get to his knees and then his dad and David grab him under each arm and haul him to his feet. He starts to lean into David, but his dad ducks under Patrick's arm and takes his weight to half carry him back to the house. David slips out of his hand.

His dad settles him in a chair at the kitchen table and does all the routine checks for broken bones and concussion. His mom hovers nearby with an icepack in hand, but Patrick waves it away. The only thing that hurts is his pride (and his bottom, but that's already plenty cold and wet). Everyone else is crowded into the doorway, anxiously watching him.

"I'm really okay," he says to them all. "Good thing you got all that fresh snow yesterday, really cushioned the fall."

"I told you to keep your dad off the ladder, guess I should have kept you off, as well." 

"What's a family gathering without a trip to the emergency room, eh?" his dad jokes and his mom just clucks her tongue at him.

"No emergency rooms," Patrick reiterates. "I just—I just need to change my clothes. I'm soaked and I'm starting to drip on the floor."

"I'll get the mop," his dad says, finally letting him up. "Just put your wet things in the laundry room and I'll take care of it. We'll have to fix the lights later."

"No more ladders!" his mom scolds, and Patrick excuses himself to go change.

He skirts around the others to remove his coat and wet boots and leave them in the front hall. Feeling their eyes on him, he glances up to see Stevie standing between Rachel and David, and that familiar pit opens up in his stomach once again. He doesn't say anything as he heads toward his old bedroom where he'd dropped his bags along with David's.

On the drive up, he'd imagined sharing this room with David, showing him all of the little things from his youth that his parents have kept — the posters on the walls, his baseball trophies, maybe a photo album or two. Cuddling up together in Patrick's old bed and whispering stories from his childhood all night long. Feeling at ease, and at home, bridging his old life with his new life. The amazing, beautiful life he shares with David.

The room isn't exactly as he'd left it, though. His father is clearly using it as an office now, with a big desk in one corner and two filing cabinets along the wall. His bed is pushed against the opposite wall, not under the window where it always used to be. But his old dresser is in the same spot, and all his trophies are lined up and shiny like new.

Patrick is bending over, peeling his wet jeans down his legs, when the door creaks behind him. He twists his body to see who it is, expecting his mom to have come to check on him, and is pleased that it's David poking his head through the doorway instead.

"Hey," Patrick says, still bent over, the air chilling his wet backside.

"Hi." David smiles. "Nice view."

Patrick laughs. "Get in here."

David squeezes through, closing the door behind him. Patrick struggles to get his feet out of his jeans, nearly falling over in the process, but David is there to steady him with a hand on his elbow. "Hey."

"Hey. Thanks."

"Are you really okay?"

"Yeah." Patrick glances at the door to make sure it's closed then leans up to kiss David quickly, softly. "I'm really okay, David. Although, my ass is starting to feel a little sore." At David's raised eyebrow, Patrick rolls his eyes. "Not in a pleasant way."

"Oh no," David says, hushed and serious, crowding into Patrick's space. "Should I kiss it better?"

Patrick's breath catches, the warmth from David's body sending shivers all along his insides. "It's worth a try."

As their lips meet, he slides his arms around David's waist, pulling him closer. David's hands are on his neck, fingers digging up into Patrick's hair. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he pitches backward, dragging David with him down into a heap on the bed. The mattress groans and the bedsprings squeal and they're both laughing silently into each other's mouths. David's legs are tangled with his, one thick thigh pressing up into Patrick's groin. The heat between them contrasts with Patrick's wet underwear, clinging to his skin uncomfortably.

He tries to scoot his hips away from David, while discreetly readjusting himself, but of course David notices it all, watching him with a smirk. Truly, his underwear is starting to... ride up in places.

"I need to change out of these," Patrick says, pushing himself off the bed to stand up. Checking again to make sure the door is closed, he hooks his fingers into his waistband and starts to peel his underwear away from his skin. "Could you hand me a new pair out of my bag there?"

While David's back is turned, Patrick starts tugging his underwear down. They've been together for months, having sex with each other almost as long, and yet changing his clothes in front of David still somehow feels like he's exposing himself. This isn't sexy. He's not stripping for David to entice him. It's not leading to anything more... fun. Patrick is just cold, and wet, and honestly kind of shriveled, shivering in his childhood bedroom with no pants on.

David hands him a new pair of boxer briefs, navy blue, and a dry pair of jeans. Patrick pulls the briefs on, covering himself quickly, then reaches for the jeans.

"Oh, these, huh?" He laughs at the pair that David has picked out, the pair that David has said, explicitly, make Patrick's ass look great.

David just shrugs, innocently. Shaking his head, Patrick pulls them on. He removes his socks because they're kind of squishy, too, and sits on the bed next to David to fish a new pair out of his bag and put them on.

"Your parents are nice," David says, quietly, and Patrick pauses with one sock on and the other rolled over his toes. He finishes and pulls the cuffs of his jeans down.

"Yeah," he says, sitting back up and leaning into David's side. "My mom's not being too much, is she? Roping you into working in the kitchen?"

"She taught me how to _zest_ a lemon," David says, with a little shoulder shimmy. Then he knocks his shoulder into Patrick's. "She's being great. I mean, she seems very kind and... I don't know, motherly? Like a nineties sitcom mom. I didn't think people were actually like that."

"She is kind. And she's a good mom."

David drapes his arm around Patrick and rests his chin on Patrick's shoulder. "Did you have a good time, talking with your dad? You know, before you nearly plummeted to your death?"

He says those words in an offhand way, like he's only teasing, but Patrick turns just enough to press his lips to David's forehead. "I'm okay," he whispers.

"Mhm," David hums, curling around him more snugly. "You didn't answer my question."

Patrick sighs. "It was fine. He's happy I'm here. We talked about the lights, mostly. He asked about the store..." Patrick sighs again, rubbing his hands over his face and up through his hair. "He—it's like I don't know how to talk to him anymore."

"Well, what did you talk about before?"

Patrick slumps forward out of David's arms, resting his elbows on his knees. "Point taken."

"I wasn't—it was just a question, Patrick. I wasn't trying to make a statement." He feels David's hand hovering above his back, not quite touching. "I'm definitely not the person to be judging the way families relate to each other."

"David. I've seen you with your family. You're all completely open with each other about everything."

"Not _everything_. Never everything. Can you imagine?" David waves his hand in a circle in the air then finally lets it land on Patrick's back, rubbing gently up and down. "Look. You've—I mean, from what you've told me, it sounds like you always had a good relationship with your parents. Right?"

"I thought so."

"I didn't. With mine," David says, and Patrick sits up so they're eye to eye again. "I've always lov—" He closes his eyes and takes a moment. "I love them. I do, and I always have. But sometimes? I think I didn't like them. We didn't like each other. Or know each other, very well. We do now? But it was... it was hard, I think, just letting my family know me." He runs his hand along Patrick's back, down over his arm, and laces their fingers together. "Maybe you just need to let them get to know you."

Looking down at their entwined hands, Patrick suddenly feels not so adrift. He knows David is right, and he knows that David is here with him, no matter what. Deep inside himself, he knows that his parents will be here for him no matter what, as well. He thinks, maybe, that they're finally trying to treat him like a fellow adult, and it's time he started acting like one. He can't avoid having the difficult conversations anymore.

He leans over and kisses David, once, murmuring into his mouth, "I love you." Then again, cupping David's jaw in one hand, still grasping David's hand with the other.

They pull apart when they hear a verbal, "Knock, knock," at the door as it opens and Stevie sneaks inside.

"Why _say_ knock knock?" David asks her. "Why not just knock?"

"So you'd know it was me," she snaps back. "Also, hey, stop making out in here. I can only do so much small talk with strangers and ex-fiancées."

"Oh." Patrick looks down at his socks, gray and slippery against the hardwood floor of his bedroom. "So, Rachel's still here."

"Uh, yeah." Stevie leans back against the door. "To be fair, I don't think she's trying to still be here. I mean, um, your parents just keep talking to her."

"Is that..." David starts then seems to recalculate. "Would she normally spend Christmas with your family?"

Patrick looks from David to Stevie and back to David. "We spent last year together. All of us, my parents and hers. But that was because..." He runs his hands through his hair again. "They're friends. Our parents. Or, they were. Before. I don't—I don't really know, anymore."

"Now's as good a time as any to find out," Stevie says, with her hand on the doorknob, ready to open it. "I'm not itching to go back out there myself, but we probably shouldn't just ditch them all. Unless that window opens." She points to the bedroom window that does, in fact, open and leads out into the backyard.

Patrick shakes that thought out of his head and moves toward the door. "Yeah, okay, you're right. We've been in here way too long."

"Oh god," David says, a look of horror on his face. "I told them I was going to the bathroom. What will they think I was doing in there?!"

Stevie snorts, and Patrick can't help but laugh, too. "It's okay, David. I'll just tell them that I was cleaning up in there. Come on."

He pulls David to his feet and tells him to go through first, letting his hand slide away as David and Stevie head back down the hall. Patrick wads up his wet clothing and drops the bundle off in the laundry room. He thinks about washing them himself, but he knows his dad is particular about doing the laundry.

When Patrick makes his way back toward the kitchen, he finds everyone in the front sitting room instead. His dad and David are on opposite ends of the sofa, and Stevie is sitting awkwardly next to Rachel on the loveseat. Everyone has a little plate of cookies and a glass of milk. With their faces lit by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the window, the scene resembles one of David's holiday rom-coms.

"Oh, there you are!" His mom comes through from the kitchen carrying her own cookies and milk. She sets her dishes down on the coffee table, then turns to Patrick and reaches up to cup his chin. "How do you feel? Are you sure we don't need to go to the hospital?"

"No. I mean, yes, I'm sure. I'm fine, Mom." He does his best not to pull his face out of her hands, even though this is embarrassing and unnecessary. She's only worried. He doesn't like to worry her.

"Oh, my sweet boy, giving us all heart attacks," she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Okay. You go sit down, and I'll get you a plate."

"You don't—" he starts to say, but she's disappeared back into the kitchen again. "Okay, thanks."

He shuffles in place and doesn't sit down because the only seat available is between his father and David. Which should be fine. He can sit next to David. He wants to sit next to David. But Rachel is still here, and now she's looking at him with a sort of apologetic smile on her face and he doesn't want her to feel sorry or uncomfortable, and David is also glancing at him uneasily, and none of this is going the way Patrick had envisioned it.

His mom returns and suddenly he's holding a little plate and a small glass of cold milk. "I made your favorite."

Patrick looks down at the peppermint sugar cookies with swirled vanilla icing and can't bring himself to tell her that he doesn't really like sweets anymore. He thanks her instead, with a smile, and when he takes a small bite it tastes just like all the Christmases of his childhood.

"I promise I'm not trying to lure you back home with treats," she jokes in a way that doesn't sound joking at all. And it's strange to think that his parents must have been expecting him to move back at some point. Strange, because Patrick hasn't thought about this place as _home_ for... a very long time.

"Well, I don't know about Patrick," David says to the room, "but it's working on me. If these are the sort of goodies on offer, I'll move in right away. I can take Patrick's old room, I'm very tidy."

Everyone smiles at that, and Patrick scoffs, "Sometimes."

David is very particular about laundry, but refuses to wash a dish by hand and he tends to lose his things all over Patrick's apartment: a book he's reading, his wallet, his phone, his keys.

Patrick realizes the room is quiet and everyone is staring at him. "Uhh, I—" His brain stutters, scrambling, and he says the first thing he can think of: "You... never want to sweep the floors in the store."

"Excuse me." David puts a hand to his own chest, offended. "Who dusts all the shelves and straightens all the displays?"

"You," Patrick concedes, "because you say I don't have your eye for aesthetics."

"Also," Stevie interjects, "because Patrick can't reach the high shelves and we've all just learned that he's bad with ladders."

Everyone laughs at that, loosening the last bit of tension in the room. Patrick feels his body relaxing, and he shoots a grateful look at Stevie, who pretends to ignore him. He takes another bite of his cookie. The smell, the taste, even the texture are all comforting in their familiarity.

His mom has taken the spot on the sofa beside his dad, but she pats the seat between her and David. "Come sit, I'm sure we can squeeze you in here."

He could definitely fit, but he'd be squished up against David, who is already pressing himself into the arm of the sofa as much as he can. Rachel must notice his hesitation because she starts to get up.

"You can have my seat." She fumbles with her dishes, struggling to push herself out of the squashy cushions, and Patrick instinctively waves her back down.

"No, no, don't get up. I'm fine. I can—I'll just sit here," he says, hooking his foot around the leg of the piano bench and tugging it forward enough to sit on. He winces at the hard seat on his sore butt and tries to cover by taking a big gulp of milk. Internally he's screaming at himself, _Why didn't you just let Rachel leave?_

"I noticed you didn't bring your guitar home with you," his mom says. "I thought we might have a little Christmas carol sing-along like we used to."

"I didn't think about it," he says. He notices Stevie shooting David a complicated look that Patrick can't decipher, and tries to ignore them. Truthfully, he had planned to bring it, but there wasn't space in the car with everyone's bags. He knocks on the piano beside him. "There's always this. I'm not as good on piano as guitar, but I think I remember the basics."

"You never wanted to practice your piano," his mom teases.

"Piano doesn't impress the girls like the guitar, am I right?" His dad grins at him, waggling his eyebrows, and Patrick's stomach sinks as he can't help but look to David. And then Rachel.

"I'm certainly not impressed," Stevie says, then turns to Rachel. "Are you impressed?"

Rachel flounders for a second, glancing in Patrick's direction, but recovers quickly. "It takes a lot more to impress me these days," she says with a little half smile. "Remember that Christmas song he made up in high school?" she asks, looking a bit more comfortable now.

"Oh!" David springs forward in his seat, excitedly, nearly dropping his plate of cookie crumbs. " _Mary Christmas Baby_? Yes."

Stevie looks between the two of them. "Why have I never heard about this?"

Covering her mouth with one hand, Rachel stage whispers, "It was really bad."

"I thought it was sweet!" his mom says, and Patrick appreciates her defending him but Stevie, David, and Rachel all ganging up together feels like trouble.

David reaches over and pats Patrick's mom on the arm. "It _was_ sweet of him to dedicate a song to you, I agree. When he told me about that, I thought it was very cute." He smiles across the room at Patrick and their eyes lock. Time stretches and Patrick can't look away. He wonders what his parents will say when he tells them about the time he sang to David in front of dozens of people. How it was his way of saying 'I love you' before either of them were ready to say the words. How it was a defining moment of his life. Like this moment right here. He should tell them now.

Rachel stands up abruptly, clinking her dishes onto the coffee table. "I really should be going," she says, and everyone turns to her. "I have to get back to my parents' house; Sarah's coming over with the kids and I promised to help out. Thank you, Marcy, for the cookies. I think the chocolate peanut butter ones will be a hit."

"Let me get you a tin to take home with you." Patrick's mom starts toward the kitchen, but then she stops and turns back to the rest of the room. "What did everyone else think? Honest opinions please?"

"I tried the ones with the, um, the cranberries?" David says. "Those were very good, thank you."

"The cranberry orange crunch. I'm so glad you liked it! That was one of the new recipes, it just seemed so festive. And you?" she asks Stevie who blinks up at her.

"Uhh, I think mine had cinnamon? And it was—also good," is Stevie's stilted reply.

"Not sure these are winners, but that's why I made four different kinds. Four chances to be someone's favorite," his mom says, before disappearing into the kitchen once again.

"Has Mom gone a little overboard with the cookies this year?" Patrick asks his dad. "It's just the normal Christmas Eve dinner at Grandma's house." She usually only makes two kinds, chocolate chip and gingerbread. The peppermint sugar cookies were always just for Patrick.

"These are for the church dinner tonight," his mom explains, returning with a Christmas tin in hand. "I'm sorry I used your friends as guinea pigs, but I tried new recipes this year and your father is an unreliable taste-tester."

"They're all delicious to me!" his dad says, gathering up all the dishes.

"I thought the church dinner was last week?" Patrick asks, as his parents start bustling around him.

"It should have been, but the furnace was busted again and they were fixing it right up until yesterday!"

"You should have seen us all in the service last Sunday," his dad chimes in, "all bundled up in our coats and mittens."

"Everyone kept dropping their hymnals," his mom says, laughing. "Here, sweetheart," she says to Rachel. "You take these to your family and give them our love. Tell your mother thank you for the Christmas cake. Patrick will walk you out."

"That's not necessary—" Rachel starts, but Patrick's already standing and saying, "Yeah, of course I can."

He shoves his feet into his boots, not bothering to lace them up, and slips his coat on. He helps Rachel into her coat, as well, and holds the tin while she puts her winter boots on. He walks her down the front walk, holding onto her elbow to steady them both, and down the sidewalk to her car.

"I'm sorry," she says, holding the tin of cookies to her chest. "My mom sent me over with her Christmas cake. I didn't think you'd be here. Today."

"No, I know. It's okay." He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, hunching his shoulders up against the cold. "How's—"

"Are you—"

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

They both laugh, looking down at the frosted cement. Patrick stamps his feet to keep the circulation going. Rachel fiddles with her keys.

"Um." She brushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "Am I getting the impression that your parents... don't know?"

The frigid air burns in Patrick's lungs, like hitting the ground all over again. He lets his breath out in a cloud of mist.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I haven't... I wanted to tell them. In person. We were going to do it when we got here, but then my dad needed help, and my mom was baking, and..."

"And then I showed up," she finishes for him. "I really was just going to drop off the cake. It was supposed to be a quick 'Merry Christmas' and back in the car, but then you fell and everyone was worried and then your mom kept asking me questions and giving me cookies. I'm sorry, but you know it's impossible to say no to her."

"I know. It's fine, Rachel," he says, smiling now, at the situation, at Rachel and the way they can both ramble at one another so easily, even after everything. "I am happy to see you."

"Me, too." She smiles up at him, that little crooked half smile that he always thought was cute. "You look well. Both of you. All three of you?" She squints, cocking her head to one side. "How did that happen, exactly? Did you need backup?"

"My mom invited them both."

"Ah." She nods. "It all makes sense." She shifts the cookie tin from one arm to the other. "I'm glad to see that, um, that you guys are still together. You and David."

Patrick swallows, and he feels a sting in his eyes that might just be the biting wind. "Thank you."

"You should tell them," she says, holding eye contact with him. "I think they really like David. I think it'll be okay." She wraps her small fingers around his forearm and gives him a little shake. "I really should get going. But I guess I'll see you tonight at church?"

Patrick takes a deep breath, a whole new dread filling him up. "I guess so."

* * *

"Stop spying on them!" David hisses, even though he is standing right beside Stevie as she peeks through the curtains out the front window. "Or at least tell me what they're doing."

"Just look for yourself," she says, twitching the curtain aside for David to see.

"I will not." He crosses his arms over his chest and stands up straight, shoulders back.

Both of Patrick's parents are rattling around in the kitchen and therefore not here to catch Stevie and David spying, so she doesn't understand this charade of self restraint. She watches Rachel touch Patrick's arm. She watches the way they hug, brief but friendly, intimate in a familial way. She watches Patrick stand back on the sidewalk and wave as Rachel drives off.

She watches Patrick turn back toward the house. Stevie jumps, flicking the curtain closed, hoping he didn't see her.

"He's coming back! He's coming back!" She stumbles around the piano bench, careful not to knock over the Brewers' tall Christmas tree, and pushes David back over to the sofa.

"Ow! Ow!" David slaps her hands away. "You didn't tell me anything!"

They both fall onto the sofa and manage to arrange themselves in a casual pose just as the front door opens and Patrick enters. Stevie can see him shucking his boots off and hanging up his coat. When Patrick comes into the room, she's staring at her blank phone screen and David is gazing up at the tree like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.

"David? Um..." Patrick presses his lips together, looking at David with big, round eyes.

"Oh. Now?" David stands and starts smoothing down his sweater. "Okay. Yes. Sure." He uses just one finger to push his hair into place, pulls his shoulders back, and then ruins that show of good posture by plucking at his pants to shake the cookie crumbs off.

Stevie doesn't move. If this is happening right now, she's not sure if she's supposed to stay for moral support or leave and give them privacy. Maybe she'll just blend into the sofa and nobody will notice her.

Patrick takes two steps closer to David, then another smaller step, until they are within touching distance. He reaches out and runs the back of his hand down the sleeve of David's sweater. Stevie looks away from them and spots Clint opening the front door and going outside.

Patrick spins around at the sound. "Dad? Where—"

"All right," Marcy says, appearing in the doorway, her arms laden with wide, flat boxes. "Your father and I are going ahead now to help set up the tables. And if my entries just so happen to be placed in the most prominent spot, well." She shrugs, a sly grin on her face, and Stevie is beginning to think she's underestimated this woman.

Patrick looks less impressed. His gaze flicks to the door and back to his mom. "So, they're still doing the bake-off at church then?"

"Of course!" Marcy turns to David and Stevie to whisper conspiratorially, "The prize this year is up to almost five hundred dollars!"

"Wow," David says, his smile too wide and his eyes darting between Marcy and Patrick. "That. Is. Quite a prize."

"Yeah," Stevie says, standing beside David because she can't bear his discomfort any longer. "What are you going to do with all that money when you win?" she asks Marcy, who actually blushes and Stevie sees where Patrick learned to wink.

"The winner always donates the prize money. It's part of the tradition," Marcy tells them.

"That's lovely," David says. "So it doesn't really matter who wins."

"That's the general spirit," Marcy replies, her gracious tone neutralized by her next words: "But I'm not letting that Debbie Smith win this year with her boring apple tarts."

"Those apple tarts don't stand a chance!" Clint says, sweeping through the front door again. "She'll be searching for new recipes before the end of the night." He takes the boxes from Marcy and heads right back outside.

"Oh, hey, Dad—" Patrick moves to go after him, but stops short when the front door shuts between them.

Marcy is already pulling on her own boots and winter coat. "The cookies are always the most fun," she says, winding a blue and silver scarf around her neck, "but the pie contest is where all the glory is!"

"Oh my god, his whole family is like this," Stevie whispers in awe just loud enough for David to hear. He elbows her in the shoulder and she pokes him in the side.

"You kids can drive separately, but don't be too late or you'll miss all the good stuff. See you there!" Marcy pulls on a matching blue toque with a fluffy silver pom, and kisses Patrick's cheek before hustling out the door.

"Well I—guess we'll see you there then," Patrick calls after her. He stares at the closed door for a minute, visibly deflated, before turning back to David and Stevie. "Okay. So, looks like we're all going to the holiday dinner at church?"

David stands next to Patrick, rubbing his arm. "Maybe we can catch them before this... dinner thing starts?"

"No. There will be too many people and too much going on." Patrick leans into David, looking suddenly very young. "I really wanted to do this before we see anybody else."

"I'm sorry, honey," David says softly, wrapping his arms around Patrick's shoulders from behind. Patrick hooks his hands around David's forearms, just hanging on.

Stevie tries to give them a minute, but there are pressing issues here. "So, this, uh, church thing? Is it... _in_ a church?" She hasn't been to church since she was twelve, but she remembers why she stopped going.

"Uh, yeah. They have a—sort of an event hall attached. It's just a dinner, though," Patrick says. "There won't be a sermon or anything."

"Stevie's just afraid she'll burst into flames when she steps through the doors."

She makes a face at David, but says to Patrick, "It's just... I didn't bring any, you know, church clothes."

"Oh, yes," David says, "I will definitely need to change before I can go anywhere."

"It'll be pretty casual. What you're both wearing is perfectly fine."

"Mkay, but this was really just my _travel_ outfit. It's not, like, an evening look."

"Whatever that means," Stevie says, "I basically just have more of this." She gestures to her jeans and flannel shirt. She'd packed one red sweater that she was saving to wear on Christmas day. No matter how informal Patrick thinks his parents are, she didn't want them to think badly of her.

"Stevie, your clothes are fine," Patrick says, ignoring that little noise David just made. "I'm not changing, either, and you know what? We don't have to go. My mom didn't—I can't believe she didn't tell me about this in advance? They really just sprang this on us, so I think we can get away with not going."

"Um." David actually raises his hand. "But I was promised pie."

"We can go out for pie, David. In fact, let's just go out for dinner, anywhere you guys want to go. I can show you around a little. Though there's not a lot to see..." Patrick trails off, his eyes unfocused, staring into the middle distance.

Stevie catches David's attention. She subtly tips her head in Patrick's direction, bugging her eyes out while David stands there helplessly. His shoulders rise and fall in the tiniest of movements, his face begging her to do something. They exchange a few more looks, _'Say something!'_ — _'Like what?'_ , until Stevie just shakes her head at him and says, "This church thing. Could be fun. I mean, I'm never one to turn down a free dinner."

Patrick looks up at her. "I would buy us dinner, Stevie."

"Right, but—" She looks to David.

"But," he continues for her, "your parents are expecting us to attend. What kind of impression would it make if we don't show up?" David bends closer to Patrick and, in a much softer voice, he says, "I don't want to disappoint them."

Patrick's face does that _Patrick looking at David_ thing and Stevie turns away from them.

"I'm going to change my shirt," she says, already on her way to the guest room. Behind her she hears whispering and then Patrick's voice a little louder and steadier. Determined.

"We'll tell them tonight, when we all get back to the house. It'll be fine."

The church is a long, brick building in the middle of a neighborhood only about twelve or so blocks from Patrick's parents' house. The parking lot is nearly full when Patrick pulls his car in, and Stevie does some of Twyla's deep-breathing exercises in the backseat. She'd swapped out her flannel shirt for the red sweater, but kept her jeans on, and she still feels underdressed. David had, of course, changed his entire outfit, and Stevie must admit that he looks great, even festive, in his black sweater with sparkly silver stripes and black pants.

Patrick didn't change his clothes again and he looks about as anxious as Stevie feels, even though he blends seamlessly into this crowd. He greets everyone by name, shaking hands and introducing his new friends. He politely asks how so-and-so is doing and cleanly dodges answering questions himself. People have heard about the 'ladder incident' already and they express concern. This mostly comes from a couple of older ladies who, Stevie thinks, are scolding a grown man in an overly familiar way. Although, Patrick does look the part of contrite, embarrassed teenager in their presence.

They spot Rachel standing next to a slightly taller woman and three little girls, all with the same shade of red hair. Rachel is also wearing jeans, with a dark green sweater, and Stevie feels a little less self-conscious.

When the girls see Patrick, their faces light up and Stevie is sure the shrieking could be heard for miles. They swarm around him, tugging on his hands and chattering away excitedly. Like a set of Russian nesting dolls, each just a hair bigger than the next, all three are dressed in matching dark green velvet dresses with white lace on the collars and white tights on their legs. The look is somewhat spoiled by the clomping snow boots on their feet.

Rachel introduces her sister, Sarah, and her nieces, whose names Stevie doesn't catch. "And this is—" she starts, gesturing to David. Stevie sees Patrick subtly shake his head at Rachel. "Um, Stevie," Rachel continues, redirecting, "Patrick's new friend. And David, their... other friend."

Her sister says 'hi' and 'nice to meet you' and tells her daughters to quit acting like monkeys in a zoo, and Stevie realizes that Rachel hasn't told her. Sarah barely glances at David, but she'd given Stevie a brief, shrewd look, sizing her up. Stevie has been on the receiving end of that look before.

"Now, stop climbing on Patrick," Sarah says, snapping her fingers at her girls.

"But, Mommy, he's been gone _forever_. Can't he come play with us?"

"I have an idea," Patrick says, a child hanging off each of his arms and another wrapped around his leg. "Why don't we go check out the cookie tables and spoil our dinner?"

"Yaaayyy!" all three cheer, and their mother just waves them off in resignation. Patrick looks back over his shoulder as he's dragged away.

Rachel tucks her hair behind her ears and says, "Glad you guys could make it," before wandering after her sister.

David hasn't really moved in the last few minutes. He looks a bit like the screen froze up during a crucial moment in a horror movie.

Stevie reaches up and links her arm through David's, locking them together. He seems to shake himself out of it, standing tall beside her. Stevie holds her head high next to him. Maybe people will think Patrick is the third wheel here.

"You good?" she asks.

"Um, why wouldn't I be?"

"Exactly." Stevie gives their linked arms a little shake. "Let's go find some drinks."

They wander through the room, winding around tables and clusters of people all chatting and laughing. The dinner is a potluck with all the food being laid out at one end of the hall. Stevie starts steering David in that direction, but Marcy finds them before they get very far. She introduces them to several people, lowkey bragging about Patrick's successful new business. She sounds so genuinely proud of her son, and it's clear that she also really likes David. Once she gets him talking about the store and how he personally curates the products they carry, Stevie feels herself fading into the background. She answers questions when asked, but she isn't really an active participant in the conversation. Which is fine by Stevie. The fewer people wondering what she's doing here, wondering why Patrick invited her, the better.

That doesn't mean she wants to be left completely alone. She frantically grips David's arm as he tries to slip away from her. "Where are you going?!"

"Marcy asked me to help her. I can't say no!" David says, keeping his voice down while trying to tug his arm out of her hands.

"Do not! Do not abandon me, David, I swear to god—"

"I don't think you're supposed to do that in a church?" He pulls free and waves her off. "Just go—mingle or, like, confess your sins or whatever. You'll be fine."

She watches his traitorous backside disappear through a crowd of people and starts scanning the room for an exit, a hiding spot, or... Patrick. Stevie makes a beeline across the room until she's standing beside Patrick, who is standing beside Rachel, who has a strained smile pasted on her face as another woman is saying, "...better not wait too much longer, you know?" The woman winks at them with a sly smirk on her face before moving off to harangue someone else.

"Hey," Stevie says, just as a man walks past, pointing at Patrick and Rachel, calling out, "You two! _You_ two!"

"Hey, Stevie." Patrick has his hands stuffed into his pockets, head down like he's hoping not to make eye contact with anyone or attract any more attention.

"Sup?"

"People keep asking if we're getting back together," Rachel says, eyes bright, pasted smile sticking. "Now that the girls have relinquished you, I'm going to go stand somewhere else."

When she's gone, Patrick leans over and whispers in Stevie's ear, "Where's David?"

"Your mom stole him from me." Stevie eyes the room, and all the people, then she eyes Patrick, who's desperately scanning the room himself. "And how are you doing?"

"Fine," he says, with a little shrug. Stevie just looks at him and he sighs. "I don't know. I haven't even seen my mom here yet. Or my dad. It's like... they don't have time for me." He looks down at his feet, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I guess this is how they've felt this past year. Like I could barely make time to even call once in a while. This isn't how I pictured... anything. This wasn't part of the plan."

Stevie wonders what, exactly, was the plan, and why it needed to involve her, when a woman loudly announces that the food is ready. The chatter in the large hall dims until a man in a blue suit stands for everyone's attention. The room goes silent while he says a short prayer of blessing over the food. Stevie stands perfectly still beside Patrick. She glances at him and notices that his head is bowed like everyone else's, but his eyes are open and he's watching the room. After the chorus of "amen"s, everyone rushes to get in line and start serving themselves.

Stevie sticks close to Patrick, following his lead, grabbing paper plates and napkins and plastic cutlery. There's so much food to choose from, everything smells so good, and Stevie's stomach begins to growl. All the sugar she'd had earlier is forgotten in the wake of the savory buffet before her. She decides on the roast beef and mashed potatoes, vegetables be damned, and fills her plate. Unsure where to go from here, she waits for Patrick.

"You think you have enough cheese there?" she asks, nodding to his plate piled high with cheese cubes, fruits, and crackers.

"This plate is for David."

"Oh." Stevie shakes her head. "Then you do not have enough."

That has the desired effect: Patrick laughs. Just a soft, short sound through his nose accompanied by a crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

"I'll come back up and get something for myself, I just want to make sure he eats more than dessert," Patrick says, craning his neck and standing on his toes, searching for David.

"Oh my gosh, Patrick!" a blond woman says, stopping before them, her eyes alight. She tosses her head, flipping her hair over her shoulder, both hands occupied with a full plate and a red plastic cup. "Your friend David has the best stories. I'll never look at Carrot Top the same way again!" She knocks his arm with her cup and leans close. "Is he single?"

Patrick blinks at her. "Carrot Top?"

She throws her head back with the force of her laughter, and just walks away.

"How was she looking at Carrot Top before?" Stevie asks. "And where is everyone getting drinks?"

Patrick just points to a table behind her. She sets her plate down to grab a cup and goes directly to the large punch bowl. She picks up the ladle and takes a discreet sniff, fills her cup and takes a quick sip.

She frowns down at her cup, then at Patrick. "This party punch is just... punch. With ice cream in it?"

"It's a thing." He shrugs. "Someone has been making that punch for every event since before I was born. It's mostly for the kids."

"And the adult drinks are...?" 

He points to the rest of the table with its assortment of coffee, tea, lemonade, and pop. Stevie rolls her eyes and takes her fruity ice cream punch and her plate of food and continues to stand around awkwardly waiting on Patrick to decide on their next move. There are tables evenly spaced about the room, but the seats are filling up quickly.

"Mkay, church food is delicious," David says, appearing by her side with a full plate and a fork in his mouth.

"Hey," Patrick says, and the way his whole body seems to relax in David's presence, it's a marvel that nobody here has figured them out. "I was just making you a starter plate." He holds up the plate of cheeses and David smiles.

"Oh, thank you," David says, and he starts to lean forward, like he's going to kiss Patrick, but stops himself with a little shake of his head. "Um, Cynthia let me cut the line with her." He gestures over his shoulder with his fork, but Stevie can't see who he's pointing at. "She knows nothing about celebrity culture and everything I say is the funniest thing she's ever heard. Either she's never heard a joke before in her life, or she was just humoring me. It doesn't matter; she's very fun and I love her."

Patrick's half smile is beginning to look a little pinched, his lips thin and eyes pale, but he finally leads them over to a table. Carrot Top Lady is there and her already wide grin goes impossibly wider.

"David! We were just talking about you!"

"Cynthia!" David greets her, wiggling his way into the chair beside her. "You know how I feel about gossip — it's the most fun when it's not about me."

She truly laughs like David is the funniest person she's ever met. Stevie knows David isn't drunk right now (if he is, he's been holding out on her) and she's never seen him... perform quite like this before. It's odd, and unsettling, but Stevie is hungry.

She takes the seat by David and leans over to Patrick beside her. "Looks like you got some competition there, Patrick," she says out of the side of her mouth. She's only teasing, but when he doesn't respond, Stevie looks at him and he's just staring down at the table, mute.

"Whoever decided to put rainbow ice cream in fruit punch? Genius," David says, stealing Stevie's cup and taking a drink. It leaves a little bit of orangey foam on his upper lip. "Why did you never tell me about this?" he asks her.

"How would I know? I don't go to church." Although the punch does seem familiar. Did Nana Budd ever make punch? Punch for kids, with no booze? Stevie can't remember any specific occasion from her childhood. Maybe Aunt Maureen? No, it definitely would have had booze. None of her family ever went to church regularly, and one winter Nana Budd told her that they wouldn't be going back.

The food is good, at least. Warm. Comforting. Much better than the café, certainly. Like a real home-cooked meal, something Stevie never bothers with herself.

"Ah, there you are!" Clint comes up beside their table, looking red-faced and jovial. "Marcy's looking for you."

Patrick rises out of his seat, but his dad claps a hand onto David's shoulder and it becomes clear that he wasn't talking to his son just then. David excuses himself, wiping his mouth on a napkin. He darts a glance at Patrick before allowing himself to be shepherded away.

Stevie snags his plate, pulling it closer so she can pick through what's left. She offers it to Patrick, but he just shakes his head. He hasn't eaten anything.

"Everyone seems to like David," she says, casually, stabbing her fork into a mound of cheesy potatoes.

"Yeah."

She watches Patrick out of the corner of her eye. "That's... good. Right?"

"Yeah." He's tugging absently at his ear, staring off into the direction in which David and his father had gone. "Yes. It's good."

Stevie plucks some fruit and cheese off the plate he'd made for David. "Hey, can you go get me more of this roast beef?"

At that, Patrick seems to blink out of his daze and look over at her. "Sure. Anything else?" he asks, getting up and pushing his chair in.

"Some more of these cheesy potatoes?" She shoves the last forkful into her mouth. "And something else to drink!" she calls to him as he's walking away from the table.

Patrick's shaking his head and, even though she can't see his face, she knows he's rolling his eyes at her. He brings back everything she asked for, though, just as she knew he would. Plus a few other dishes to try. Patrick doesn't eat much, but he shares a bit of everything Stevie has, plus a whole slice of pecan pie for himself.

They mostly talk about home. About Schitt's Creek. The motel, the store, Patrick's new apartment. Several people come up to chat with Patrick, and introduce themselves to Stevie. There are a few Looks when Patrick calls her his 'friend' and also some Looks when these people mention Rachel, but Stevie doesn't feel as out of place as she thought she would.

Patrick's parents are busy the whole evening. They're very social, constantly chatting with one group or another, which does not surprise Stevie, considering how sociable Patrick can be. (She hadn't realized how many friends he'd made in town until his housewarming party a few weeks ago. Even David had been a little stunned by that turnout. She and David have lived in Schitt's Creek longer than Patrick, and they still basically only hang out with each other.)

David doesn't appear to be having any problems socializing and making friends tonight, though. Stevie hasn't left her spot since she sat down, but David keeps flitting back and forth and all around, and she wonders if this is what he was like _before_. Always surrounded by people, smiling, laughing, enjoying being the center of attention. Marcy is certainly delighting in David's company, showing him around and introducing him to people. She and Clint have only briefly paused by their table to check in with Patrick. Marcy fussed over him getting enough to eat, and Clint wanted to know if Patrick had checked out the lineup for the church's softball team: _"Spring is just around the corner, you know! We had to fill your position last year."_

Patrick has done a few circuits of the room, walked around to visit with people, disappeared to the bathroom once or twice, but he always slumps back into the chair beside Stevie looking the way she'd imagined one would look while suffering through church.

Initially she just thought Patrick was being dramatic, but she must admit, his parents do seem awfully busy for their son that they haven't seen in nearly a year. It's almost as though they're avoiding having any sort of real conversation with him. Stevie, who isn't close with any of her own family — she mostly only sees them at weddings and funerals (and she usually skips the weddings) — but has had a front row seat to the Roses these last few years, is fairly certain this is Not Normal Behavior for the Brewers.

After most people have finished eating and the children start getting restless and wild, Clint reappears dressed head-to-toe in a velvety red Santa suit, complete with white-trimmed hat and big red sack. The chaos that ensues is more than Stevie can bear. He begins handing out small gifts to all the screaming children and Stevie watches the way that Patrick watches his dad. Clint couldn't have a bigger smile on his face if he tried, as kids climb him like a very soft, jolly tree. Meanwhile, Patrick has that faraway look in his eyes again, wrinkle between his brows, mouth small and grim.

Stevie leans close to Patrick's ear and whispers, "I need to pee."

He lets out a surprised, snorting laugh and turns to her. "Okay?"

"Can you show me where..." she says, gesturing vaguely. "And dear god I hope it's in a remote, quiet location."

"Sure." Patrick nods, smiling now, and makes sure to push in both of their chairs, because of course he does, before showing her the way. It is, blessedly, far down a long corridor away from the large, noisy room and all the people.

"I was half-expecting a long line," she says outside the washroom doors.

"There's another one back that way, closer to the main hall." Patrick points behind them. "This is the remote, quiet location," he says, and it's good to hear him sounding like himself again. That is to say, like an absolute troll.

They split up to use the facilities and when Stevie is finished, she finds David waiting in the empty corridor.

"Oh," he says. "I thought I saw Patrick come this way?"

Stevie gestures to the MEN'S ROOM door. If it's like the women's, it's a single occupancy and locked with Patrick inside. David just nods, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"So," he says.

"So," Stevie mimics.

"Church people are nicer than I was led to believe?" He sidles over to lean against the wall beside her. "But nosier than TMZ."

Stevie nods in agreement. She remembers the busy-bodies that drove Nana Budd from the church.

"Who's nosy?" Patrick asks, coming out of the washroom to join them.

"Um, everyone," David says, waving his hand in the air, dismissively. He slinks closer to Patrick, but doesn't touch. "Hi."

"Hi." Patrick starts to reach for him, but he stops to check both ways down the corridor and his gaze lands on Stevie.

She rolls her eyes, turning her back to them, and says, "Go for it, I'll play lookout."

Behind her, she hears the distinct sounds of kissing, the soft rustling of hands over clothing, and Patrick's breathy exhale as they part. "Mm," he says, "you taste like peppermint."

"Snacks hanging from a tree is possibly the best thing Christmas has ever given us," David replies, and out of the corner of her eye Stevie can see him spinning a half-eaten candy cane around one finger. 

There are more kissing sounds, but when the heavy breathing starts Stevie clears her throat loudly. She turns to see them spring apart, eyes darting around to check for witnesses. David glares at her when he sees there's no one around.

"What?" he snaps.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that in church," she parrots back at him, placidly.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," David says, with a haughty head bob. "I just met youth pastor Ryan, who's apparently _new in town_ and very gay."

"Oh?" Patrick's voice cracks, just a little, and his jaw clenches. It's only noticeable because Stevie is looking. David wasn't.

"Your mom introduced us," David teases, still smiling. "Don't worry, I was barely tempted. He's in his twenties and already going bald." David slides his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "Not that that would be a dealbreaker for me. Probably. But he would not stop talking about the youths. I've never needed to know so many things about teenagers."

Patrick melts under David's touch, wrapping his arm around David's waist. "I would have thought you'd get along great then," he says. "You know, since you 'vibe with a much younger crowd.'"

"Never living that down," David mutters, eyes to the ceiling. "Your mother will just have to tell Pastor Ryan it would never work between us. He's way too into kids." David grimaces. "Not like in a creepy way. In a 'he's definitely going to adopt, like, twelve kids and start a _Partridge Family_ -style Christian rock band' kind of way."

They start back down the corridor to the party, still with their arms around each other. Stevie shoves her hands between them and pushes them apart.

"You guys are terrible at this whole secret boyfriend thing. It's like you've never had to sneak around before in your life." She can feel them giving each other looks over her head. She's very aware that David has had to sneak around and hide relationships before. Just not from his parents. Patrick had probably never even thought about it.

"There you kids are!" Clint says, startling all three of them the moment they enter the room. He's still in his red Santa suit, the hat gone and his face flushed. "You're missing the bake-off results."

Marcy is beside him, and David bends close to her. "Nobody has even looked at those apple tarts," he remarks behind his hand.

Marcy hushes him with something that sounds like _'oh, pish'_ and a pleased giggle, resting her hand on David's forearm. Patrick has his hands stuffed into his pockets again, standing between his father and Stevie.

The place is abuzz as they tally up the votes, or whatever. Stevie is unclear on what the voting process was, who was allowed to vote and when. David is appalled by the general disorganization and lack of ceremony for announcing the winner.

Even though Marcy's chocolate bourbon pecan pie was _'absolutely divine'_ (David's words), she doesn't win. But, neither do those apple tarts that barely anyone has touched. No, the prize goes to a little girl who made the sloppiest gingerbread men that Stevie has ever seen, but it was her first time baking (obvious) and she's nine, so she won. Stevie thinks that's kind of cheating; you can't spend your whole life winning just because you're cute. Unless you're Alexis. Everyone else claps and cheers for the girl. Even Marcy, who looks happy enough, so maybe that competitive attitude multiplied when the Brewers passed it on to their son.

People begin packing up and clearing out shortly after. Stevie is so ready to grab her coat and go. This was a lot of social interaction for her in one day and she'd really love to unwind somewhere with a bottle of wine. She tries signalling to David, but he's hovering around the Brewers like a hummingbird in a garden. Patrick is trying to grab his parents' attention while they're busy saying good night to folks and wishing them a Merry Christmas.

Stevie decides to gather all of their coats for them, to expedite this a little. When she returns, Rachel and, Stevie assumes, her parents are chatting with the Brewers. Standing in the circle with them, Patrick looks stiff and... and so terribly shamefaced. Stevie looks to David, who has retreated from the group, hanging back out of the way with his arms crossed over his chest. 

It's obvious that Rachel is trying to chivvy them along. Stevie isn't sure if it's for Patrick's sake or her own. Probably both. Her sister lumbers past with a quick smile and nod, struggling under the weight of her smallest daughter fast asleep on her shoulder. The other two girls trail behind her, stopping to excitedly show Patrick the gifts that Santa Clint had given them tonight.

Patrick crouches down to give them each proper attention. That awful, haunted look on his face evaporates into the air and wafts right over to David, now gazing down at his shoes. Stevie hefts the pile of coats she's carrying onto the chair beside David, distracting them both from listening to the final goodbyes. David doesn't say a word, but she sees the thanks in his eyes and the way his tight smile loosens ever so slightly.

They've both got their coats on when Patrick stalks over to them, looking harried and upset. "My dad has vanished again."

"I think he went to, um, change out of his Santa suit," David says, quietly. Patrick's brows furrow as he looks up at David, and his hand automatically goes to the small of David's back.

That's when Rachel pops up beside them. "Hey," she says, and Patrick drops his hand. "I'm not sure if you're interested... um, but I'm meeting some people for drinks now if you want to come—"

"Yes!" Stevie realizes she might have been a tad too eager in her agreement. She stands by it. "I think that sounds great. David?" She looks at him pointedly.

"Uhh..." David looks at Patrick. Patrick's mouth opens.

"That should be fun," Marcy says, joining their little group. Patrick's mouth closes. "Dad and I are going to stay behind and help clean up."

"We can stay and help, too," Patrick tells her, and Stevie did not sign up for that. One look at David tells her he's not thrilled about it, either, but Stevie has a feeling he'll do it if it's what Patrick wants.

"No, no." Marcy pats his arm. "Take your friends out, have fun. We'll see you at home."

"Oh, okay. If you're sure?" Patrick asks.

"Of course. You'll only be home for a few days. You should catch up." She reaches up to cup his face in her hands and kiss his cheek. For a moment, she looks as though she has something more to say, but it passes, and she turns to the rest of them. "Well. Everyone be safe. Call if you need a ride home."

With one last touch to Patrick's arm, and assurances from all that they'll be responsible tonight, Marcy leaves them.

Patrick stares after her until she's out of sight. He clears his throat. "I guess we're going out then?"

* * *

The pub Rachel takes them to is about ten blocks in the other direction from Patrick's childhood home. It's small and cute, with a vaguely Irish theme. It has a very _'everyone knows your name'_ neighborhood vibe. Not unlike that little wine bar near David's gallery in Chelsea (that he'd frequented enough to have both bartenders' contacts in his phone, and not even for saucy reasons). But with a lot more middle-aged, straight, white people. Not unlike the _Wobbly Elm_ on a Saturday night.

The pub is decked out for the holidays with twinkle lights, garlands, and holly strung from the rafters. On the large television behind the bar, in place of sports or news or _A Christmas Story_ , a video loop of the yule log blazes away in a cozy brick fireplace.

It feels homey and comfortable, the patrons are all loose-limbed and happy, and David should be relaxed, unwinding right along with everyone else, but... he is _exhausted_.

Maintaining an upbeat, cheery attitude all day for a room full of strangers has depleted his energy. It's been so long, he'd almost forgotten 1.) how to do that, and 2.) how much he hated it. Not to mention trying to make the best possible impression on Patrick's parents while simultaneously not being able to touch Patrick or kiss Patrick or lean on him at all. David feels physically and emotionally wiped out.

He's trying his best not to let any of that show. He can keep going just a little longer. Patrick needs him.

The room, for that's what it is, just one small box of a room, is almost unbearably warm, even with the door propped open to let in the frosty night air. There are so many people here, and most of them know Patrick. And Rachel. And 'Patrick & Rachel.'

The moment they'd walked in, Rachel leading the way, they were greeted by a large, boisterous crowd, all shocked and excited to see Patrick back in town, shouting: "Brewsky! Brewsk _yyyy_!" as they rushed Patrick and swallowed him whole with hugs and backslaps and a kind of earnest exuberance that David has never experienced in his life.

David can't imagine his old friends cheering were he to suddenly return. Or shout his nickname with such enthusiasm. Or give him a nickname he'd want to hear shouted at him. It's clear that Patrick has _friends_ here, real friends, not just acquaintances and hangers-on. People who genuinely like him and missed him when he was gone.

It's... a lot, for David, to see the way Patrick slots right into this former life. It was one thing to know that, obviously, Patrick had a life before he met David. He had friends and lovers and family. It's another thing to actually witness it, first hand, up close, the way Patrick could slide seamlessly back into this life. If he wanted to.

David doesn't think he wants to.

Watching Patrick in the low twinkling light, his cheeks glowing in alternating reds, blues, and greens, he's all smiles and sweet charm, ducking his head shyly from the onslaught of questions and _'great to see you'_ s, and David could see him living this life, fitting right into place.

But David has lived a life with Patrick, too. Even if it's been less than a year, he _knows_ Patrick inside and out, and the man in this crowd, the man smiling with his mouth and sighing with his eyes, is just a shadow. An echo of a life cast off.

Patrick excuses himself, twisting and contorting his body, taking a circuitous path through the masses, until he finally comes to rest beside David at the farthest end of the bar. He tucks himself up to David's side, using the crowd as an excuse to be close. Or maybe he's forgotten to need an excuse. He snags David's glass and takes a sip, grimacing when he hands it back.

"Where's Stevie?" he asks, close to David's ear.

David gestures with his drink — a spiced apple pie wine, _and it's delicious, Patrick!_ (He'd had such a craving after smelling those apple tarts earlier and was tempted to sneak one for the road, but he just couldn't betray Marcy like that.) On the other side of the bar, Stevie looks very cozy in a booth. She'd found an admirer about three seconds after stepping inside, had gotten a free drink off him, and abandoned David to go flirt in a dark corner.

"Ah." Patrick nods in her direction. From their vantage point, they can only see the back of the guy's head, but Stevie appears to be enjoying herself. Patrick leans his back against the bar, pressing their bodies even closer together. He goes for David's glass again, but David pulls it out of reach.

"You don't like it," he says, taking a sip himself and savoring the apple cinnamon flavor. "Why aren't you ordering anything?"

Patrick dips his head, chin almost to his chest, before answering. "I don't want to drink too much tonight. I'm already kind of tired." He glances over toward Stevie again. "You think she'd be okay with heading out soon?"

"Mm, I say we give her half an hour? Anymore than that and..." David trails off. At the rate she's going — on her third or fourth drink now? — anymore than that and _someone_ will be pouring Stevie into bed tonight. David supposes that someone will be him, after he shoos away her random.

Patrick is leaning more heavily into him now, and David lets his arm slide along Patrick's shoulders. Nobody is paying them any attention, and David is just trying to follow Patrick's lead.

"You've got a lot of friends here," David says, tipping his head in their direction. He hopes the _'we can stay as long as you want'_ is implied.

"Just some people I haven't seen in a while." Patrick shrugs. He hasn't talked much about his friends here, whether he's missed them or not. "Half of them don't even live around here anymore, either. They're just visiting for the holidays. Like us." He looks up at David, and they're close, as close as they would be back home, and Patrick isn't moving away, even though his old friends are right there, could look over and see them at any second. They're close enough that, with the tiniest movement, David could kiss him.

He doesn't. This isn't how Patrick wants to come out. He wouldn't want his parents to hear it from someone else. David sips his drink instead, eyes roaming around the room, checking on Stevie, watching as Rachel and two other women make their way toward the bar.

Rachel smiles in their direction as she pushes up on her toes to flag down a bartender. The other two stop to chat.

"Patrick! Wow, I haven't seen you in so long, how've you been?"

"Hey, Jen." Patrick smiles, and shifts his weight, but he still doesn't move away from David. "I've been good. You?"

"Decided to go to grad school so, like, clearly I'm out of my fucking mind," she says. Yells, really, to be heard over the din. "I don't know if you remember my little sister? Ashley? She's in university now, too!" She gestures to the young woman beside her.

"Sure, yeah, hi." Patrick shakes her hand, smiling, then pulls his hand back and brushes his knuckles down the front of David's sweater. "This is my partner, David."

David feels his spine stiffen, his shoulders twitch, and his eyes slide to Patrick, for just a second, before he smiles widely, and says, "Hi. Nice to meet you."

He goes to shake their hands, but he's holding a drink in his right and his left is around Patrick's shoulders and he's suddenly paralysed. Fortunately, sweet, adorable, cute, little Ashley clinks her glass against his with a soft, "Cheers," and David can breathe again.

Jen, meanwhile, is looking between them, until her face clears and she's all smiles again. "Oh, that's right!" she says. "I heard you opened a business this year. That's so cool!"

"Uh, yeah." Patrick nods, stumbling over his words a bit. "It's, uh, it-it's, yeah, it's pretty cool."

Before any follow-up questions can be asked, or Patrick stammers his way into revealing too much, Rachel is there with a tray of shots.

"Lemon drops?" she asks everyone, steadying the tray in her hands.

There are enough shots for them all twice over and, since Patrick isn't drinking tonight, waving her offer off, David thinks _'Why the hell not?'_ and grabs a glass. He clinks with the ladies and downs the shot, the sour taste clashing horribly with the apple cinnamon wine still on his tongue. He knows he's making a face — cheeks sucked in and lips pursed — by the way Patrick is looking at him, laughing with his eyes.

"Take these over, yeah?" Rachel hands the tray to Jen, and she and her sister merge back into the crowd. Rachel turns back to Patrick. "I have—I'll be right back. Just stay right here, okay? Right back!" She points at them as she, too, disappears into the dimly lit mass of bodies.

"Well, I guess we're staying right here then," David says. Patrick is still looking at him, but his eyes are more contemplative now.

"I did say partner, right?" Patrick says, catching David off guard.

"Um, just now? You... did. Yes."

"And you have your arm around me," Patrick says, pointedly looking at where David's hand rests on Patrick's opposite shoulder and David realizes how they must have looked.

"Oh, I—" He starts to draw his arm away, but Patrick reaches up to grab his hand and put it back.

"No, it's fine." Patrick squeezes his hand and nestles in even furthur under David's arm. "It's just. You have your arm around me," he repeats. "You have your arm around me and I called you my partner. I didn't say the word 'business' at all, right?"

"Oh." David thinks he sees where this is going. "No. No, you didn't," he says softly, leaning close so Patrick can still hear him. "I think..." He pauses. "Sometimes people don't want to assume things until they are explicitly told."

Patrick nods, his eyes unfocused and far away, thinking. "So," he says, slowly, "you think if they didn't know me. Before, I mean. If we'd just met, and I introduced you like that, they might have been... more inclined to. Um. Assume?"

"Maybe," David allows, "but also, sometimes, people are just very dense and need things spelled out to them."

"Yeah." Patrick's nodding again, looking down at his shoes. "I sure did."

"Hey, no." David sets his drink down on the bar and rests his hand on Patrick's chest. "You're not—" David internally curses himself for never knowing the right words to say. "No one—" He's rubbing worryingly at Patrick's chest now and forces himself to stop. "There's no... one right way to do this, you know?"

"Yes, I know every coming out story is individual and unique," Patrick recites as if by rote, and David thought he'd noticed a few interesting websites on Patrick's laptop the past few weeks. He must have been reading up. It sounds like he's memorized data but hasn't actually absorbed it. David presses his lips together and lets his hand glide down to Patrick's arm, a more discreet location, hoping nobody is looking their way.

"They are," he says, softly. "But it's not just that. For you." He waits until he has Patrick's eyes on him. "You're not late. There's no time limit, or correct schedule."

Patrick's face softens with a gently curving smile. "And you always know what's correct."

David clamps his lips together against the pull of his grin. "Correct," he says, and he could tip his head down just a few meager centimeters to kiss the laugh from Patrick's mouth. But their small, private bubble bursts and they are in a dark, noisy room full of people who knew Patrick from before he knew himself.

And Rachel is back. "Okay, while I have you two alone. I, um, I did get you a gift, but it's kind of for both of you?" In her hands, she's clutching a fairly good sized gift bag spilling over with sparkly gold tissue paper. She starts to hand it over, then pulls it back. "So, for context, before you open it." Her eyes dart between them. "Um, keep in mind that when I ordered this, I was maybe a little tipsy and it seemed hilarious to me at the time, but if I'm actually overstepping here... please never tell me."

David likes her. It's wild to him how much he likes her based on really just this one day of knowing her. Patrick tends to keep his stories to himself. David knows the basics of their relationship, some of the ups and downs, mostly the downs, but he knows nothing of Rachel as a person. Except that she was important to Patrick for almost half his life. David thinks she could be important in the rest of their lives, too.

Patrick sets the gift bag on the bar and parts the tissue paper. He grins at whatever he sees inside. David tries to peer over his shoulder. From the bag, Patrick pulls out a precariously wrapped ceramic teacup. He holds it up so that David can see the word ' _his_ ' written on the side of the cup in a light blue, loopy script. Patrick sets that down on the bar to pull out the second teacup, barking a laugh at the words written on this one: ' _also his_ '.

"There's a teapot, and saucers, and those little spoons, too," Rachel says, biting her lip. "It's, um, it's not really a, you know, a 'his' and 'his' set." She glances up at David. "I had to get it custom made, and this idea just... look, it was really funny when I was drunk online shopping, okay?"

"No, I get it," Patrick says, smiling widely. "Because of that set we used to have." He turns to David then. "It was one of those cutesy his and hers sets, except Rachel never used it—"

"I just don't drink tea," she explains to David.

"So, I ended up using whichever cup happened to be clean—"

"And I always said the cups should say 'his' and 'also his'," Rachel finishes, and they're both still smiling at each other, and David feels almost like he's spying on them, like this is a part of Patrick that isn't _for_ David's eyes.

But Patrick is standing close to him, and resting a hand in the small of David's back, and making him part of the story now.

"Well, I don't drink as much tea as Patrick, but these are very nice, Rachel, thank you," David says.

"Yes, this is great, thank you." Patrick wraps the cups carefully with the tissue paper and tucks them back into the bag. He turns back to her, bag crinkling in his hands. "I don't... I don't have anything for you."

She waves that off. "I'm really just replacing that old set for you, anyway."

"I figured you'd just keep that. If you wanted."

"Yeeah..." Rachel elongates the word, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear. "You left that when you, um, left? And I. Maybe. Kind of... smashed it? A little bit?" She's looking up at Patrick with her head tipped down and her shoulders up high, teeth bared in more of a wince than a grimace.

For a second, Patrick says nothing. Then he snorts a laugh through his nose, his face splitting in another grin. "Well. I think that one probably had it coming."

Rachel's answering grin is small and kind. She shakes her head, shrugging. "It was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Speaking of time, I'm gonna say goodbye to everyone in a minute and head out. I..." She bites her lip, then dashes in quick to Patrick's side, working her arms around him and giving him a quick hug. "Don't be a stranger," she says, pulling away before he can respond. "You, too, David. And, uh, tell Stevie I said hi. And bye." With one last little wave, Rachel backs away out of sight.

Patrick is left standing there, holding the gift bag and looking as though he's misplaced something vital, like his ability to handle emotions. David massages both of Patrick's shoulders, draped as he is across Patrick's back, trying to think of something to say. He glances around the bar and—

"Oh my god, where _is_ Stevie?"

* * *

It's a short drive back to the house. They could have walked everywhere today instead of driving at all, but Patrick can't see convincing David and Stevie to spend more than three minutes in the cold. Even though Stevie has the backseat window rolled down, blasting freezing air on her face.

When Patrick parks the car out front, he sees that most of the windows are dark, but his parents have left the porch light plus all the Christmas lights on. The full force of his father's light display blazing away in the dark is... a lot to take in.

"Your whole house is glowing," Stevie says in hushed awe. "It looks like a UFO."

"Wow," David breathes, and Patrick doesn't detect any of the usual... judgement in his tone. He doesn't know why he expected David to criticise the lights. It was unfair of him to assume that David would think the whole concept tacky and over the top, but he'd had this pit of dread in his gut about it and now he feels guilty for that, on top of so many other things.

Then David is jumping out of the car, muttering, "Oh, no, no," and Patrick can see Stevie's legs in the backseat, her top half hanging out the window.

Of the three of them, Stevie is the one who can hold her liquor, but she's currently wiggling her way out a car window and spilling onto the frozen, snow-covered ground. She leans heavily against David when he drags her to her feet.

"Um, I hope you have a house key?" David asks when Patrick comes around the car to help him. "Because I really don't want to wake your parents like this."

"Oh noooo, now we have to be quiet," Stevie whispers not at all quietly.

"Yeah, I've still got a key," Patrick says, throwing Stevie's other arm around his shoulders and guiding her slowly up the front walk to the door. It's starting to snow again.

"Dibs on the bathroom," she says, echoing around the stillness of the neighborhood. Patrick winces, hoping everyone else is asleep, too. He remembers the last time he came home drunk to this very front door. He's sure the neighbors remember it well. He'd made an absolute scene then, forgetting his house key and throwing up in the bushes just to the left of the porch. A few days later, he'd left town.

David props Stevie up against the side of the house while Patrick searches for his old house key. He should keep it on its own ring, he thinks, instead of bundled in with his keys to his car, his new apartment, and the doors of Rose Apothecary.

"If I get you as far as the bathroom," David asks Stevie, "can you take it from there?"

"I'm not _too old_ to hook up in bar bathrooms," she slurs into David's shoulder.

"I didn't say you were too old," David retorts. "I said that bathroom was disgusting, and you only have two pairs of jeans."

Finally, Patrick gets the door open and they all, very quietly, huddle in the entryway removing their coats and boots. There's a light on in the kitchen and, for a moment, Patrick hopes his parents are still awake, waiting up for him like they used to.

But the kitchen is empty, save for a plate of cookies on the table with a note propped up beside it: _For Santa and his Elves ;)_

"Ooh, your mom left us cookies!" David reaches for one immediately.

"She even drew a little winky face." Stevie grabs a cookie, too. "Your mom is the best."

Patrick smiles at that, and buries this feeling in his chest, this mixture of disappointment and relief that he doesn't want to examine, to fall back on what he does best. He cocks his head, hands on his waist.

"David. Were you ever going to tell me?"

David pauses mid-bite, eyebrows raised. Patrick just taps the note with one finger, drawing a line under _Santa_. David rolls his eyes, chews, swallows, and covers his mouth with his hand when he speaks.

"I am much too svelte to play that role, thank you." He wipes some crumbs from his lips.

"You're not that jolly, either," Stevie says, swiping another cookie.

"Anyway!" David says, scrunching his face at Stevie and smacking her hands away from the plate of cookies. "It's not even Christmas Eve yet. Your mother would never leave cookies sitting out for more than a day." He presents the plate to Patrick, the last cookie left for him.

After a glass of water each (two for Stevie), the three of them tiptoe through the house and down the hall. Stevie takes the bathroom first, and Patrick follows David to his bedroom door.

"And just where do you think you're going?" David whispers, turning around to face Patrick, his back pressed against the door. He fake gasps, his teasing lips twisted to the side and begging to be taken. "Are we not to be in separate sleeping quarters this evening? You weren't planning to defy your parents and sneak into my room, were you?"

"I definitely was..." Patrick says, leaning in close. He's been missing David all day. Missing his touch and his warmth. Missing home and how easy it is to just exist there. His parents are asleep; they'd never know. 

The door to his parents' bedroom creaks open and Patrick rocks back on his heels just as his mom steps out into the hall.

"Oh, you're home," she says in a low voice.

"Mom! Sorry, did we wake you?"

"No, no, I just need some water. Did you all have a good time? How was Ra—everyone? Did you see a lot of old friends?"

Stevie emerges from the bathroom, her hair pulled back and her face scrubbed pink. "Uhh... bathroom's free," she says, and hastily scampers past them into the guest room, closing the door behind her.

The three of them are left in silence; Patrick realizes his mom is still looking expectantly at him for an answer.

"Yeah," he says, with a quick, reassuring smile for her. "Everyone was good. We had fun."

"That's lovely, sweetheart. I'm so glad you had a chance to visit with your friends." She touches the sleeve of his shirt. "You should be getting ready for bed, though. Busy day tomorrow. What are you doing up here?"

"Uhhh... just." He blinks between her and David. "Just saying goodnight to David. And Stevie. Goodnight, Stevie!"

Through the door, she calls back a short, "Night!"

"Also," Patrick continues, "I left my bag in David's bedroom. My bedroom." He shakes his head at himself; stumbling over words, his chest tight, his face heating up, all from talking to his mother? It shouldn't be like this. But she's right here. "Is dad awake?"

"Can't you hear him snoring?" his mom asks.

"No." Patrick doesn't hear anything. If his dad is still up, he could do this now. This was the plan.

"It's because of our new mattress," his mom says, excitedly. "A miracle mattress. You should get yourself one of these. I'll send you the link."

Patrick can't think of anything to say except, "I don't snore."

"Yes you do," David says. Then his eyes widen, panic flashing across his features. "Uhhh. I just mean. If your dad snores, you probably do, too. Statistically speaking. I read that somewhere. Um." He presses his lips together. "I'm just going to... use the bathroom. Good night," he says softly, squeezing around Patrick in the tight hallway.

"Good night, David," Patrick says back as the door closes between them. He can feel his face growing warm, and hopes his mom thinks he's just flushed from the cold. Or the bar. She doesn't appear to have caught David's stumble. He feels a whirl of relief and regret, shame and resentment, all overshadowed by deep, aching fatigue.

He grabs his bag from his bedroom while his mom waits in the hall. She insists on helping him get settled in the den. "It's on my way," she says.

She's already made up the couch with Patrick's old plaid sheets, blue comforter, and extra pillows. He slings his bag on top of it all and opens it up to search for his pajamas. His mom lingers in the doorway.

"Do you need anything else?" she asks, one hand around the door jamb, her robe belted tight.

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, Mom."

She nods. "Well. I'll just be in the kitchen for a bit. I'll try not to make too much noise."

The den is off the kitchen, just three steps down at the back of the house. It used to be a screened porch until his parents converted it. Patrick was so young when they did it that he barely remembers it ever being anything else. This room is made up of watching Jays games with his dad, or _Disney_ movies with his mom, playing _Mario Kart_ with his friends, all wrapped up in picture-perfect childhood memories and light oak paneling.

His mom remains in the doorway. He can see her there, in that exact same spot, on a thousand different days throughout his life, asking if he wants a snack or if he'd rather broccoli or green beans for dinner, telling him to take out the garbage and please clear his baseball gear out of the front hall. His mom, who encouraged him to try out for school plays, who fretted over his decision to major in business, who told him _'You've got plenty of time, you don't have to decide your whole life right now.'_

Patrick could tell her. She's here and she's waiting for something and she's his mom. He could just say it.

"Mom?"

"Yes?" Her face brightens, eyes wide and attentive. She moves a little further into the room.

"Mom, I'm—" Patrick's throat is dry. He swallows and licks his lips. It's warm in here.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I'm— " _I'm gay. I'm in love with David. I'm so happy with him that it made me realize I'd never been truly happy before. I'm going to marry him someday. I'm still me._ It all tumbles through his mind, intangible thoughts roiling over each other. His heartbeat is thudding in his temples.

"Patrick?"

"I'm sorry," he says, voice raspy and wilted. "That I haven't been to visit all year."

"Oh," she breathes out, a hand to her chest. "Oh, sweetheart." She comes to sit beside him on the couch, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It's all right. We understand."

"You do?" he wonders aloud. He's not sure he understands yet.

"Of course," she says, leaning back so she can see his face. "It takes a lot of time and energy and focus to start a whole business and get it running and, from what I hear, make it quite the success." She smiles, touching her forehead to his.

"Oh." Patrick blinks. Nods. Forces a matching smile. "Yeah. It was... yeah. All of that." She couldn't know that the prospect of making that drive back on his own had sprouted thorny knots in his stomach. That the thought of having to explain himself made his chest tight and his head swim.

It occurs to him then that neither of his parents have asked him for an explanation. Not once since he's been back. Not once since he left, come to think of it. Not even those early days on the phone. There was _'how are you'_ and _'where are you_ and _'what an interesting name for a town,'_ but never once a single _'why?'_.

His mom pats him on the arm, uses his shoulder to push herself up from the couch. "Get some sleep, honey. I'm sure you remember what tomorrow will be like."

He laughs, as she intended, and lets her go. He hears her in the kitchen, soft tinkling sounds and running water, while he dresses in his pajamas and crawls under his blankets.

The silence in this house is never true silence; the furnace ticks and the pipes occasionally rattle, the hum of the refrigerator is a constant, the wind whistles and the tree branches outside snap. Patrick used to find these sounds soothing. They were the sounds of home.

His home is sleeping in his childhood bed right now.

He waits long enough after he hears his parents' bedroom door close before sliding out of his makeshift bed and creeping through the dark house, soft-footed in his Rose Apothecary alpaca wool socks, avoiding every creaky floorboard. His bedroom door is closed. Patrick turns the knob slowly, slowly and pushes just enough to slip inside. He closes the door and turns the knob back into place without a sound.

When he lifts the covers, David is already awake, opening his arms to welcome Patrick in.

"I knew you'd be cold," Patrick whispers, snuggling in close. "Sorry, I forgot to mention that my dad keeps the thermostat at just above freezing."

"Is it above freezing, though?" David burrows in, tucking his face under Patrick's chin.

Patrick wraps his arms around David, rubbing his hands over David's back, and whispers, "I'll warm you up." 

"Ooh." David tips his face up, finding Patrick's mouth. His lips are soft and warm and wonderful. "How thin are the walls in this house?"

"Probably on par with the motel, so."

"Ugh." David pouts and Patrick kisses him again. "Don't start something we can't finish. Let me just—" David wiggles around until his back is against Patrick's chest. He pulls Patrick's arm over him, linking their hands together on his stomach. "Much better."

"Mhmm," Patrick hums, nosing behind David's ear. "I don't know why you think this position is a deterrent." David's laughter vibrates against his chest.

"I can be quiet if you can," he says, trailing their joined hands down to the edge of his waistband.

"We both know that's not true." Patrick squeezes David's hand, bringing them both back up to safer territory.

"Mm, this is good too," David says, already sounding like he's half asleep. "That was a long day."

"Yeah," Patrick sighs. A long day that hadn't gone at all as planned.

We'll get 'em tomorrow," David mumbles. "Night. Love you."

Patrick kisses the back of David's neck and nestles down into the pillow. "I love you, David."

Tomorrow. They'll tell his parents tomorrow. First thing in the morning.

* * *

Stevie is awoken at ass-o-clock in the morning by the very sudden, very loud, very dramatic slamming of a door.

And the words, "Oh! Patrick..."

* * *


End file.
